


It Means Tumult

by delicate_mageflower



Series: It Means Tumult Universe [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Autism, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Episodes, Borderline Personality Disorder, Coping, Depression, Derealization, Dissociation, Dysfunctional Family, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Freeform, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Illness, Inspired by Music, Karaoke, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Modern Thedas, Multi, Music, Neurodivergent Character(s), Obvious Metaphors, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Medication, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Smoking, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Survival, THE FOUND FAMILY TROPE IS SERIOUSLY EVERYTHING, Therapy, chosen family, institutionalization, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 85
Words: 309,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/delicate_mageflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU: Hawke's name might almost be funny if it weren't quite so true, but through such accuracy and tragedy she's led towards family she never expected to find, towards healing and salvation she never could have believed she'd ever deserve.</p><p>This story is centred around neurodivergence and broad mental health issues, and how powerfully music can affect tones, moods, and lives is a strong theme, as well. Warnings will always be placed in the tags, which will be updated as needed, as well as in the beginning notes of each chapter, even at the cost of potential spoilers when it comes to that.</p><p>[compiled soundtrack on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLubCaXonOrQW9Uy-rXF7kahOKLLpHysuh">YouTube</a> and <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/1243285493/playlist/3BmmZmoXQvxqSyKJO8r8Bb">Spotify</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything and Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self-harm, suicide, implied dissociation, emotional abuse
> 
> ["After the Storm" by Mumford and Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqUsAHTUPTU)   
>  ["Crack the Skye" by Mastodon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HY6AwtnxBM)   
>  ["Rolling in the Deep" by Adele](https://youtu.be/rYEDA3JcQqw)

Trista Hawke’s knuckles burned as she punched the wall a second time. So she did it for a third, and then a fourth, and then a...she lost count after a while. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the dents that were rapidly becoming full-blown holes. She couldn’t bring herself to care about how her mother was going to react when she saw it, how much it might cost to fix it, how they’d all been through enough grief already. She couldn’t bring herself to care that she didn't even blame her mother for what happened, not really, despite how desperately she wanted to. After all, she had only been trying to protect Bethany. Just as she had always done for her. Just as their father had. Because he had known first-hand what she and her sister would be in for if they didn’t. That didn’t make anything any better, however, as she punched the wall again.

The scene replayed in her head a thousand times as the knuckles on both hands bloodied, her forehead pressed hard into the wall as she struggled to breathe. Aveline Vallen, the Hawke siblings’ collective oldest friend, had come over to check on Bethany, as it was no secret she hadn’t been doing well. She was such a sweet girl, so full of love and compassion for everyone but herself, but try as she might to put everyone else’s needs first, to put everyone’s concerns at ease, she’d always worn her heart on her sleeve. “I’ll be fine,” she’d said so many times. They all thought, or at least hoped, it could turn out to be true. It didn’t.

Hawke—as her friends usually called her, although no one could say why or even when that started—remembered knocking on the door to Bethany’s room, Aveline right behind her, and receiving no answer. She remembered the way she’d screamed when she finally opened the door herself, and Aveline came rushing in to take in the sight as well. They had guessed Bethany just had headphones on or that perhaps she was on her computer, simply too distracted by whatever she could be doing to hear the repeated banging on the door. Neither of them had expected that Bethany would be in bed, empty bottles of Ambien, Klonopin, Percocet, Smirnoff haphazardly tossed on the floor beside her. She did have her headphones on, they were right about that. They could hear the faint sound of Mumford and Sons coming from them when they fell from her ears as Hawke violently shook her sister, trying to wake her, even though she felt the pronounced absence of warmth on Bethany’s skin, even though she knew it was far too late.

_“Because death is just so full and man so small, and I’m scared of what’s behind and what’s before…”_

She remembered catching the lyrics and hitting the floor laughing. She hadn’t meant to, didn’t know why she was, but she couldn’t stop. She could only have imagined how Aveline must have been looking at her, but her awareness of Aveline’s very presence had disappeared entirely. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Bethany was gone, and she’d been in the next room when it occurred, and she hadn’t had a clue what was happening 15 feet away from her and now her sister was dead.

Her laughter finally turned to sobbing when she realised Aveline wasn’t actually present at all, when she noticed how distant Aveline’s choked cries of “Leandra, something’s happened” had sounded.

Aveline slumped down on the floor next to Hawke when she returned, her phone falling gracelessly from her hand unnoticed. “Your mother is on her way home,” she’d told her in a broken voice.

Leandra Amell-Hawke came home an indistinguishable amount of time later to the pair of them in very different states as the conversation started. Hawke found herself barely able to even show any emotion at all, a commonly used defense mechanism which she often considered to be one of her greatest assets, even if she never actually meant to use it, where Aveline couldn’t even try to keep hers contained.

“You _knew,_ Leandra, we all knew it could come to this yet you refused—”

“You. Are. Not. Her. Mother.”

“And now neither are you! We could have _done_ something, we could have found her real help. But we fucking didn’t so now she’s not your daughter, you’ve lost that privilege. Now she’s just fucking de—”

“How _dare_ you come into my home and tell me how to manage my children? Who in the Void do you think you are?”

The shouting seemed to carry on for ages, or possibly no time at all, Hawke wouldn’t have known the difference. That is, until her focus was pulled by her mother’s shrill voice and sharp eyes suddenly set solely on her.

“And just where were you when Bethany needed you, hmm? _How could you let this happen?”_

Her only answer came in the form of silently turning around and heading to her room. She was certain her mother’s continued yelling had followed her, but she didn’t hear any of it. All she’d heard was the slam of the door behind her followed by the pounding of her own fists against the cold, hard wall which she could have sworn had by that point become the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

That is, until she was torn away by unexpected arms folding tensely around her waist, Hawke’s fists punching the air as she struggled against Aveline’s grasp, finally thrusting them forward, both women’s knees hitting the ground hard.

“Dammit, Hawke,” Aveline nearly shouted as she held her grip. Ever the soldier, and as tall as she was toned, Hawke well knew she didn’t stand a chance against her in a game of pure physical strength, so after a moment she reluctantly acquiesced to her friend’s well-meaning restraint, stilling herself as best she could. “Do you know how hard it was to convince your mother to let me come up here alone? The _last_ thing you need right now is her storming in after you.”

“Let her come, watch me give a fuck,” Hawke retorted, words pouring from her mouth faster than she could catch them. “She can lose two daughters today if that’s what’ll make it easier on her, sure, because fuck knows I was always just the burden she had to put up with to earn the gift of Bethany and Carver, and look where that’s gotten us all.”

Aveline was the first to stand, holding out a hand for Hawke to help her up. “Look, Hawke. First thing, grab some clothes, you’re coming home with me tonight and I’m not taking no for an answer, not from you and _certainly_ not from your mother. Secondly...I have something I want to talk to you about, but it can wait for the time being. We’ll head over to my place, we’ll order some food—there’s this great little Rivaini restaurant that delivers—on me, and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Hawke said nothing as she turned away, but quickly began piling clothes into a bag, followed by her laptop and its charger, along with the charger for her phone. She collected a few other items, her basic essentials, and tossed them into her purse, throwing the bags over her shoulders as she and Aveline started on their way out. She remained silent as they walked downstairs, especially as she moved past her mother calling after her, and finally into the car.

Aveline turned the key in the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers, the song playing starting from where it had left off when she last parked at the Hawkes’ home.

_“Please tell Lucifer he can’t have this one, her spirit’s too strong. I can see the pain, it’s written all over your face. I can see the pain, you can make it all go away.”_

Hawke once again couldn’t help but laugh. “How appropriate.”

“Fuck, Hawke,” Aveline cursed, her voice ridden with guilt as she abruptly slammed her finger into a button on the CD changer. “I forgot what I had on, I didn’t even think, I...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hawke shrugged as Mastodon cut off. “Song was over anyway.”

_“There’s a fire starting in my heart reaching a fever pitch, it’s bringing me out the dark…”_

She couldn’t help but laugh again at the replacement track that took over the brief silence that passed, a drastic shift from the music it had followed. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“That’s me,” she nodded as she turned onto the main road, and neither of them said a word for the remainder of the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the issues that are going to be presented in this fic are things that hit very, very close to home for my own actual personal life. However, if I do still represent something in a way that is insensitive, inappropriate, et cetera, or if I neglect to tag/warn about something that should have been tagged/warned about, please let me know.
> 
> Also know that yes, this is going to be an absolute angst-factory at times, and things are not going to be easy on these characters, but this fic absolutely _will_ , when all is said and done, have a happy ending.


	2. The Storm Before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: referenced emotional abuse, references to suicide and self harm from previous chapter
> 
> ["Strawberry Gashes" by Jack Off Jill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsALQ548VUY)   
>  ["Temple of Love" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evu3I0ZoERc)

“Hawke!”

She was immediately greeted by Varric Tethras, her best friend, nearly knocking her over as he ran into her arms.

“What are you doing here?” She looked at him as she pulled away with a small smile, and then looked at Aveline when his head tilted in her direction.

“Red called, told me what happened, said she’d be bringing you here and that I should just let myself in,” he replied, feigning his usual light-hearted tone, although he couldn’t even really try to maintain it for very long. “Fuck, Hawke, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do…”

“There is, Varric,” Aveline chimed in. “That’s why you’re here. I think it’s about damn time we go over Leandra’s head on this.”

“Ah,” Varric simply nodded. “The Kirkwall Crew.”

“And that is…?” Hawke’s arms crossed, patience for the day already worn far too thin.

“Yes, the Kirkwall Crew,” Aveline answered, “but we’ll get to that. First, food, and I’ll grab some blankets and pillows from the closet. You’re free to stay as well, Varric, but if you do you’ll be on the couch. Hawke gets dibs on the guest room.”

“For once, Red, I’m not going to argue,” he chuckled as he sat down on the same couch that would be serving as his bed later. “What’s for dinner, then?”

***

“I’ll have to ask Isabela how authentic this place is,” Varric laughed as Aveline cleaned up their takeaway containers.

“Who’s Isabela?” Hawke asked as she was waved away by Aveline upon trying to help.

“Well, I guess that’s as good a segue as we’re going to get,” she remarked, exhaling sharply from her nose in such a way that it almost sounded like a stifled laugh, running over to the kitchen to toss everything she’d collected from the remains of their meal into the garbage before promptly popping back into the main room. “Isabela is a friend of ours from our group.”

“Ah, then that would be the _‘Kirkwall Crew’_ that Varric brought up earlier, I presume.” Hawke leaned back, sinking into the couch. “Seems a silly name for whatever it is.”

“‘I’m inclined to agree with you there, although it doesn’t actually have an _official_ name,” Varric noted, “but we were initially lacking in a term for it so we just sort of ended up with that one. Makes us sound like we’re all in this together or something, I guess. Yeah, it is a silly one, sure, but no one could come up with anything better, so…”

“Especially since so few of us are even from Kirkwall, it just kind of stuck, a way of trying to make ourselves feel more at home here, perhaps,” Aveline nodded at Varric. “Let me see...Isabela is, as I’m sure you could’ve guessed, from Rivain, and Merrill’s from, well, I think she said she was born in Nevarra, but she was brought up in Ferelden, too. Fenris is from Tevinter, of all places, and...yeah, now that I think about it, Varric’s the only one who was born here, but we both know even _his_ family isn’t native. So it just kind of somehow, strangely, felt right?”

“Okay,” Hawke moved to stand, “this sounds like a conversation for the balcony.”

“Fair enough, Hawke,” Varric shook his head playfully. “Just a second, let me grab my jacket. You should, too, if you brought one.”

“Should I grab us some tea first?” Aveline turned her heads towards the kitchen as she asked. “Or maybe some hot chocolate? Anyone want coffee?”

“Maker,” Hawke laughed, tugging down the sleeves of her thinly worn sweater. “You’re not my mother, you know. Either of you.”

“Somebody has to be,” Aveline murmured, albeit most likely not quite as quietly as she’d intended.

“I’ll take a coffee if you don’t mind, Red.” Varric had clearly heard her comment, as well, turning his head just slightly towards her in an incredibly—and probably at least somewhat intentionally—poor attempt at hiding his smirk from Hawke, a look which unapologetically showcased his amused agreement.

“I’ll meet you two out there,” Hawke sighed, pulling out her leather jacket to appease her friends before stuffing her cigarettes and lighter, along with her phone, into the pockets.

As she stepped out onto the balcony she pulled her phone back out and brought up the music app, hitting shuffle. She knew Aveline and Varric were going to make a fuss about bringing her some kind of hot beverage before they joined her, and she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of sitting in silence while they did so. She took a seat in one of the chairs at the small table Aveline had put out there for Hawke and Varric’s sakes, placing the items from her pockets beside the large ashtray.

_“Turn her over, a candle is lit, I see through her. Blow it out and save all her ashes for me…”_

She smirked to herself before placing a cigarette between her lips, letting out a quiet nasal laugh of her own, allowing her free hand to momentarily linger over her phone, swiftly moving it to pick up the lighter instead upon deciding against changing the song. It was awful, and it was perfect, and she sang along under her breath with each exhale.

_“She said, feels fine. It’s wonderful, wonderful here…”_

Varric emerged, unsurprisingly bearing two steaming mugs, and sat himself down on the chair directly across from Hawke’s.

“We decided on hot chocolate,” he said as he leaned to place one of the drinks on her side of the table. “She’s sorting through bedding at the moment, but she should be out in a minute.”

“Thanks, Mother,” Hawke deadpanned as she picked up her cup to blow on the hot liquid inside. “No marshmallows?”

“Sorry, _dear,_ you can blame your tall mother for that one,” he laughed. “I told her she needs to start stocking them for emergencies. We apologise for the inconvenience, and the issue should be resolved within one to two business days.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to live,” Hawke chuckled as she put the mug back down in favour of another drag from her cigarette.

_“If only I’d held on tighter to her pale, white skin that twisted and withered away from me…”_

Varric scowled upon realising what was playing, glaring at her as he reached for her lighter upon pulling out his own pack.

_“Watch me lose her, it’s almost like losing myself. Give them my soul and let them take somebody else, get away from me…”_

“Really, Hawke?” Aveline and her superhuman powers of observation appeared through the glass door, shutting it behind her and making her best attempt to seem casual as she took the few steps over to join them at the table. The obvious effort she put into her expression made Hawke’s skin crawl, bracing herself for whatever this apparently extremely important conversation might entail.

“Really, Aveline,” Hawke shrugged as she pressed the end of her cigarette into the base of the ashtray, reaching to reclaim her lighter and starting another as the song ended, transitioning into a deceptively more upbeat tune.

_“With the fire from the fireworks up above me…”_

Hawke teasingly cocked her head at Aveline after a moment. “That better?”

“Not really,” she began before Varric interrupted.

“It’s fine.” He was suddenly uncharacteristically tense, the surprise of which caused her to abruptly exhale with a small cough. “Let’s just get this conversation over with already.”

Hawke took in a deep breath, tapping off ashes with her right hand and taking a sip from the mug in her left. “So...this, umm, _‘group’_ you mentioned. Exactly _what_ does that mean? Is this some sort of cult, or…?”

_“In the temple of love you hide together, believing pain and fear outside…”_

“It’s group therapy, Hawke.” Varric’s gaze was set hard on her as he fixed the cigarette it almost seemed he’d forgotten he had into one of the spaces along the edge of the ashtray, the intense eye contact causing her to flinch. “We meet Tuesday nights. That’s every week, and…”

“And we’d like you to join us,” Aveline finished for him.

“Andraste’s tits, what a great idea,” Hawke declared, voice so high she hardly recognised it as her own. “And then why don’t we go back to Lothering to spit on my father’s grave while we’re at it!”

_“With the sunlight died and night above me, with a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain inside…”_

“Hawke, plea—” Aveline was cut off by Hawke raising a finger as the music on her phone was briefly cut off by the short vibration that indicated she’d just received a text message.

_Get your ass home, there’s enough shit going on without you pissing off Mother any further like this. It’s not fair. You need to stop._

“Oh my dear, sweet brother,” Hawke laughed mirthlessly as she took another long drag of her cigarette before shifting it to her left hand to type her reply with the right.

_Dearest Carver,_  
_Go fuck yourself._  
_< 3 Trista_

“Anyway,” Hawke sighed as she put down the phone with a tap on the play button, “as you two were saying about nullifying my father’s legacy and Bethany pretty much dying in vain.”

Varric’s brow furrowed as he, too, moved onto his second cigarette, even though most of his first had burned away untouched. “We know what a fucked up idea this is for you to hear, okay? We’re only doing this because we love you.”

Hawke only laughed as she put hers out and lit a third. This was too much, they were right about that, and a part of her was still waiting for one of them to break character and admit that this was all just a terrible joke.

“Okay, Hawke, fine. Let’s do this.” One of Aveline’s fists visibly tensed on the table, the tone of the conversation quickly getting to her. “You want to be an ass, I can be an ass, too. To be perfectly blunt, Bethany _did_ die in vain. I know it, Varric knows it, you know it, and even your fucking mother must know it, although Maker knows she’ll only drown it in excuses for the rest of her life to make herself feel better. Or just find an elaborate explanation to blame you, she’s always been especially fond of that one.”

Hawke took another sip of her hot chocolate. “Can we spike this? What would be good to spike this with?”

“Be serious, Hawke, you know she’s right,” Varric said calmly, blowing a stream of smoke upward. “Damn, I was trying to make rings…”

“That would’ve been a smooth follow-up, I’ll give you that.” Hawke tried to smile but just couldn’t seem to find it, so she looked down at her lap at another long drag, watching the smoke disperse there as she exhaled into it. “I’m not going to a fucking Circle hospital. I heard enough horror stories from my father to last a lifetime, and I’m in no rush to be able to tell my own. I’m sorry, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t. I won’t.”

_“All your prayers must seem as nothing, ninety-six below the wave, when stone is dust and only air remains…”_

Aveline relaxed her hand and placed it on Hawke’s shoulder. “We know, and we don’t want to see you in one of those Maker-forsaken places either, believe me. This isn’t a hospital. It’s not sanctioned by the Circle system, and they don’t seem to have any kinder a view of it there than you do. I promise, we’re not trying to lock you away. We would never do that to you.”

Hawke looked up to put out her cigarette, opting not to pull out yet another. Instead she fidgeted with her hands on the table, picking at the dried blood and loose skin she hadn’t yet cleaned off the knuckles from her earlier outburst. She’d nearly forgotten this had all been the same day, and she found herself suddenly exhausted at the thought.

“It’s late,” Varric noted as he reached for the ashtray, evidently catching the change in Hawke’s demeanor. “We should probably all get some sleep. Just don’t write it off on principle, okay? At least meet Dr. Cousland. Whatever you’re expecting, I guarantee this _isn’t_ it.”

Hawke just nodded and they all stood up, collecting the items they’d brought outside and making their way back into Aveline’s apartment proper. She said goodnight to Varric as he flopped on the couch, and Aveline followed her into the guest room.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as Hawke sat down on the bed. “I know that got a bit rough…”

“It’s okay, Aveline,” Hawke replied sincerely, shaking off her jacket. “I know I didn’t give you much choice. Mother’s always said I’m _really_ good at that.”

“As much as Varric and I joke, Hawke, you’re right that I’m not your mother.” Aveline’s inflection had a distinct sadness to it. “But you deserve better than you’ve had, and we wouldn’t truly be your friends if we didn’t at least try to fix whatever we can. I love you, Hawke. We both do, you know that.”

“I know. I love you, too.” She pulled back the covers, too tired to even bother grabbing her pajamas from her bag. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Aveline nodded, relieved. “‘Night, Hawke.”

“‘Night.”

Aveline turned off the light and closed the door behind her, and Hawke laid in the darkness fighting with her thoughts for what felt like ages before sleep finally won.


	3. What Regrets You Cannot Claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: emotional abuse, continuing—albeit very vague this time—references to suicide
> 
> ["She's Lost Control" by Joy Division](http://youtu.be/7PtvIr2oiaE)
> 
> (It honestly really feels like this chapter just kind of wrote itself, but in the end I think it's what it needs to be. Although there wasn't originally any music, actually, but I went back and added a little something just to keep with the theme. I just left it at that, though, because I didn't want it to be forced. So yeah, there's that.)

Hawke awoke to a gentle shake, accompanied by the sound of her name, and then her name again, and then again, a hastily repeated whisper.

“Varric,” she finally groaned in response, noting the clock on the nightstand to her left, which read 6:04am. An observation made especially frustrating by the fact that the last time she’d been aware of it, it had been 4:22. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Hey, you woke me up first.” His voice was quiet yet concerned, softness indicating that Aveline was probably still asleep. “You must’ve just been talking in your sleep, but it got a little intense, so…”

“Oh?” It was then that she noticed the blankets twisted around her legs, and she kicked at them until she could pull them back up.

“Couldn’t make out too much of it, there weren’t a lot of actual words aside from a handful of obscenities and an ‘I know, Mother’ or two.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “But you were on your seventh or eighth apology when I finally got up.”

“Well,” she sleepily rubbed at her eyes, scoffing at the bit of eyeliner that then appeared on her hands, “I guess we’ll call this one number nine?”

“Nah,” Varric yawned. “You’re good.”

Hawke slowly sat up, propping herself up against the wall, holding the blankets over her shoulders to keep herself covered.

“I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to go back to sleep,” she whispered, mostly to herself, a strong sense of defeat present in her voice as she followed with a sigh that transformed into a yawn of her own. “Dammit, that’s your fault.”

“Eh,” he shrugged with a laugh, “that’s just what happens when you don’t really sleep.”

“Fuck, Varric, I am really sor—”

“Shush, I meant you,” he interrupted with a sympathetic smile. “Ah well, if you’re up, I’m up.”

Hawke lazily shook her head. “No, no, there’s no need for that. I’ll just grab my computer or find a book or something.”

Varric stood up and stretched his back. “Nope, you’re stuck with me now. C’mon, let’s go raid the cabinets. I know where she stashes the good coffee.”

She shook her head again, but she didn’t argue. Instead she pushed off the covers and raised her arms over her head, her back and shoulders cracking from the motion as she stood up beside him.

“Coffee, then,” she said with another yawn. “Mm, definitely coffee. On the balcony?”

“That was the plan,” Varric smiled, and Hawke grabbed her jacket, necessary items still in the pockets.

“Shit, I meant to charge this,” she noted as they made their way into the kitchen, pulling out her phone only to be greeted by an abundance of missed text notifications.

_Wow, nice. How very classy of you._

_Mother’s crying again. She’s been up all night waiting on your selfish ass to come home. Good job._

_You know what, just stay where you are. We don’t need you here. You’ll probably only make things worse at this point._

_I hope you’re fucking happy._

After the fourth installment of her brother’s apparent need to go off on a tirade, she moved back to the general messages screen and swiped left to delete the entire thread, not even bothering to read the rest, and then hit the play button in the music app she’d never actually closed the previous night.

_“Confusion in her eyes that says it all, she’s lost control…”_

“Not bad,” she noted to herself. “I think I’ll just let that go until it dies, then.”

“Junior giving you shit again?” Varric looked up at her as she harshly leaned forward over a counter, her head nearly colliding with the microwave.

“We all process things in different ways, I suppose,” she shrugged. “I just have a tendency to be completely unable to deal with his methods.”

“Yeah, well,” Varric nodded as he reached into the cupboard that housed Aveline’s poorly hidden gourmet coffee cache, “I’m just waiting for the day that chip on his shoulder gets heavy enough to break his fucking neck.”

_“And she turned around and took me by the hand and said, I’ve lost control again…”_

“It’s hilarious because he somehow manages to think he’s special and deprived at the same time.” She straightened her stance, only to turn around and hop up to sit on the counter instead. “He’s always been jealous of the extra attention Bethany and I got, like he’s missing out on something from being passed over by all the downsides of Father’s genetics. Even moreso me, since you well know I’m evidently the one that has to be the shining example of the Hawke name, but he seems to have it in his head that negative attention must be better than none and he can’t seem to understand that I’d gladly let him fucking have it. Even if, at least to some extent, he’s _actually_ always been treated as the special one because he’s...healthy. Like he has higher potential. Like he can do better, like he _is_ better. He doesn’t see that he got away with everything because Mother always had her eyes on me, and then Bethany, but even she didn’t get quite the same level of attention and...well.”

“They say you make all your mistakes with your firstborn,” Varric said casually as he put the coffee on.

_“But she expressed herself in many different ways until she lost control again…”_

“Yes, that they do.” She hopped off the countertop and grabbed two mugs from one of the higher cabinets, allowing a surprised sigh of relief as her phone died, even though it meant the music stopped.

“Thanks, I was just about to ask…”

“Have you ever considered, you know...growing?” Hawke laughed as Varric playfully punched her arm.

“Fuck off,” he laughed back. “What were you just saying about the downsides of genetics? Plus, it’s not actually _that_ bad. You and Red are just fucking giants.”

At her 5’9 and Aveline’s 5’11, she knew she couldn’t really argue with him too much, but she certainly wasn’t going to let that stop her. “Still, though, what are you, like 5’2?”

“5’4. _And a half,_ fuck you very much.” He continued to chuckle as he made his way into the pantry for sugar, and Hawke in turn retrieved creamer from the refrigerator.

“Sometimes it just feels like the only mistake she really made with me was...me.” She grabbed the coffee pot and filled the mugs as she spoke, her words almost monotone in delivery.

“Yeah, you would feel that way,” Varric replied in a voice that was meant to be reassuring as he took his. “Maker knows that’s how she’s treated you. But by that logic, Hawke, that woman’s uterus is just a straight-up fucking _mistake factory.”_

She nearly cackled, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth in the hope of not waking Aveline. “I’m going to be using that in the future, I hope you know.”

“Good! Now we’re making some progress! Come on.” He put away the creamer neither of them had bothered to use, forgetting the sugar they’d also neglected on the counter as he ushered her through the main room and onto the balcony.

“She is still my mother, you know,” Hawke added, her tone somewhere between sad and simply irritated by the fact.

“I know,” Varric answered as they sat down, “and no one’s saying you shouldn’t love her or whatever, if that’s really the way it is. I’m just saying that you can still recognise the damage she’s done—to all three of you—and that you need to deal with that in some fashion or another. Preferably in a not so self-destructive way, though, just throwing that out there. And you know damn well that no matter what, you will always have a family. It just doesn’t have to be by blood.”

“Thanks, Varric.” She took a sip of her coffee and pulled out a cigarette, as he reached into his pockets to do the same. They both paused to take stock of fact that the sun was beginning to rise over them, their still-groggy eyes blinking at the dawning light that caused both the brightness and the colour of the sky to nearly perfectly match the ends of their cigarettes, as their conversation halted so they could eagerly consume their morning fixes.

“So,” Varric broke the silence after maybe a couple of minutes. “Have you given any more thought to coming out with us on Tuesday?”

“What’s today, Sunday?” Hawke’s reply started with a sigh, but with the question her eyes briefly shot to Varric’s, wide with the sudden realisation she wasn’t actually entirely sure her answer was correct, and she felt undeniably relieved at his nod, setting down her mug and resting her forehead upon her free hand. “Sure, fine, that gives me all day tomorrow to psych myself up for it, I guess. Although I suppose I should wait to say for sure until I have to deal with my mother again, see how that goes. I mean, Maker knows I can’t impose on Aveline that long.”

“That’s bullshit, Hawke, and you know it.” Varric shook his head with a smile. “I’m at least 99% convinced you’re the entire reason Red even got a place so big. You could probably plant a flag in the spare room and declare that it’s your land now, and she’d just throw you an extra blanket.”

“Fuck, you guys really are much better at being my mother.” She took a short drag followed by a very long exhale. “Alright, so how’d you even get into this? And how come this is the first I’ve heard of it?”

“Well,” Varric exhaled his own with a chuckle. “Believe me, we’ve wanted to mention it for a long time now. As far as how we got involved, that one’s simple enough. You were busy and Red wanted to hit up Lirene’s, so she and I just went and while we were there we overheard her discussing it with someone or another, and we just...we decided that it might not be the worst idea, is all. I get to vent about Bartrand, Red gets to talk at length about Wesley and Ferelden, everyone else tells their sob stories, we hug it out, and...it’s just been really good. In all honesty, for as bad as she was at it, I seriously doubt Red would ever have conjured up the will to talk to Donnic without it.”

“Fair enough, but...” She took another sip of coffee and then another hit from her cigarette. “I mean, I get why you’d never asked me to go before...obviously...but I’m still a little surprised I didn’t even know about it at all. You’re my best friends and this is clearly important to you.”

“Listen, Hawke,” Varric leaned forward over the table, “I think I can speak for both of us when I say we wish we’d have risked it sooner, maybe done some good for Bethany, but...it’s not just that we thought your mother would kill us for suggesting it. We were afraid of her finding out, too, because this isn’t official in any capacity. Like Red said, it’s got nothing to do with the Circle system, and so it’s in no way affiliated with the Chantry and their ridiculous outreach programs, and none of us want them getting involved. There’s nothing forced about it, no religious agenda, no fucked up power structure. It _is_ effectively group therapy, yeah, and it’s been really helpful, but there’s always the concern that someone’ll get wind of it and feel the need to do something about it. I mean, I know it’s not illegal for a group of friends to get together in the evening and bitch about their problems, but you know how the Chantry loves to control everything. So we try to downplay it, and everyone there’s in agreement that we just keep it on a need-to-know basis.”

“So, wait, is this really therapy or isn’t it?” She shook her head as she extinguished her cigarette. “I thought you said it’s run by a doctor.”

“It is, yeah, but he’s not that kind of doctor. He’s just a guy who’s as damaged as the rest of us who happens to practice medicine. I think he needs this even more than the rest of the group, to be honest. He’s got a private clinic he runs this thing out of after hours, which seems a little bit risky to me, but hey, not my call.”

Hawke went for another sip of coffee and realised her cup was empty. She grabbed it as she stood up, simply nodding at Varric. He clearly understood as he, too, grabbed his own and followed her back to the kitchen.

“It really means a lot to you that I do this, doesn’t it?”

“More than you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out to my dear friend/chosen brother [Nikolai](http://batcave.tumblr.com) for the "mistake factory" line. He said that about my own mother, who also happens to be _eerily_ similar to Leandra, a few years back and I loved it so much it's just stuck with me, and this definitely felt like a very appropriate use for it.


	4. Running to Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief reference to Bethany, alcohol
> 
> ["Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYIAfiVGluk)   
>  ["The Moment I Said It" by Imogen Heap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Y5Ofcjoa80)   
>  ["We Found Love" by Rihanna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg00YEETFzg)

“Hanged Man tonight?”

Hawke was clearly beginning to feel the itch to do something involving a change of scenery, but at the same time she was certainly in no hurry to leave her friends.

“I think we could all use that,” Varric laughed in agreement. “What do you say, Red?”

“That does sound like a good plan,” Aveline nodded in between sips of tea, “but I’m _not_ driving this time.”

“Sure you are! There are perks to having friends who live in the shitty part of town, you know.” Varric motioned to himself, denoting his own living situation, which was conveniently located directly above the tavern.

Aveline let out a blatantly exaggerated sigh. “I _am_ going to have to go back to work at some point, you know.”

“I know,” Hawke rested her head against Aveline’s shoulder from her position beside her on the couch. “And I do appreciate you tapping into your vacation days for all this, believe me, but the viscount will survive a little longer without you, I promise.”

“Perhaps they might,” she laughed. “But didn’t I tell you? I got a promotion. Starting next week they’re bumping me up to head of the city guard.”

“Ooh, congratulations!” Varric stood up and offered a high-five as he stepped towards the kitchen to refill his coffee, which she took with a playful roll of her eyes. “So drinks are on you tonight?”

Hawke straightened up, only to lean back into the couch as she put her feet up on the coffee table. “It’s never going to stop being weird that you got into fucking law enforcement, have I mentioned that?”

“Not too recently, at least,” Aveline laughed. “But hey, it was the easiest gig to land with a CV that pretty much only says ‘Fereldan Army’ on it and you know, when you find something you’re good at…”

“You know, Red, I always forget you were military.” Varric returned to the armchair across from the couch with his freshly refilled mug. “How’d that even happen?”

Aveline just shrugged. “Dropped out of school after my father passed. That’s when Leandra took me in but, well, I’m still me. I didn’t want to take advantage so I was always looking for a way to make it on my own, but it was hard to find good work without the education, you know how it is. Doesn’t matter how smart you are, all that matters is if you have the piece of paper to show for it. Then I started seeing Wesley and we eventually got to talking about getting a place together, so I had to do _something,_ and they were recruiting pretty heavily with that whole civil war thing going on, so…”

“That’s why Carver joined up, you know,” Hawke interjected. “I think he had a crush on you, the way he’d follow you around like a lost puppy.”

“I can’t even fucking imagine what Junior must’ve been like with access to heavy weaponry,” Varric laughed, only half-joking.

“He was a handful, yes, but from what I saw he _was_ good at what he did. That boy just needs discipline and structure and all of a sudden that _sense of purpose_ or whatever he always whines about comes straight up to the surface. Just a shame that we ended up having to evacuate when Lothering went up. We’ve _both_ got honourable discharges on our records, though, so he could find work here every bit as easily as me. Just not with the viscount. He _really_ should have known better than to use me as a reference...”

All three of them burst out laughing as Aveline trailed off, the fact that she was completely serious somehow only making it funnier.

“Well,” Hawke caught her breath with a shake of her head. “I guess I neglected to mention, he did get a job. He’s joined the security team at the prestigious Kirkwall Psychiatric Institute and Clinic!”

Varric nearly did a spit-take. “Your brother’s working at the fucking Gallows? That’s low, even for him.”

“I know, right,” she shrugged. “It pays well and he doesn’t ever have to worry about becoming a patient, so whatever, I suppose. Mother threw a small fit about it at first, but he’s promised us that we need not worry about a thing, since it’d make him look too bad to reveal his family history on the off-chance it ever got back to anyone who matters there.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Aveline stood and reached for the keys on the end table. “Hanged Man, then?”

Varric quickly stood up himself and reached for Hawke’s boots from beside the coffee table, throwing them at her.

“It’s about damn time, Red.”

***

They walked into the tavern to the tail end of a generic dance beat, and Hawke’s eyes were immediately drawn not precisely to the electronic jukebox along the wall on the far side of the room, but to the woman running her fingers along the selection screens.

_“Where are we? What the hell is going on? The dust has only just begun to form crop circles in the carpet. Sinking, feeling…”_

“Ooh, what do you think the chances are I can get her to take me home tonight?”

_“Spin me ‘round again and rub my eyes, this can’t be happening. When busy streets a mess with people would stop to hold their heads heavy…”_

“Not high, I’m afraid,” Varric chuckled as he caught her eye from across the room and waved. “She happens to be attached, sorry.”

“Oh! Did she and Merrill finally…” Aveline laughed as the apparent friend of Hawke’s friends made her way over to them. “Well. Thank the Maker for that one.”

“You’re one to talk…”

“Ah, well if it isn’t Big Girl and Dwarf,” she proclaimed upon reaching them, cutting off Varric’s jab at Aveline, and extended a hand. “And friend, I see. I’m Isabela.”

“Hawke.”

_“Oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before the takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this still life…”_

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

_“Hide and seek…”_

“Ah. Well. I gather you’ve heard of me then?” She scowled at Varric and Aveline, both of whom just awkwardly smiled in return.

_“Blood and tears, they were here first. Mmm, whatcha say, oh that you only meant well, well of course you did…”_

“Oh yes, they talk about you all the time,” Isabela smiled sincerely. “All good things, don’t worry. Promise. So, why don’t we have a seat?”

_“Whatcha say, oh that it’s just what we need, and you decided this…”_

“Well, nice to meet you, too, Isabela. This is _perfect_ music to get drunk to, by the way. I like your style.” Varric shook his head at Hawke’s last comment, and she could have sworn she heard an “of course you would” from under his breath.

They walked over towards the side of the tavern with the jukebox just as the song changed, and sat themselves down at the first table they found by the wall with enough chairs nearby.

_“The moment I said it, the moment I opened my mouth, lead in your eyelids bulldozed the life out of me…”_

“Good to see you as always, Norah.” Their regular server caught up to them almost immediately, and Varric greeted her with a grin. “I assume everyone’s drinking.”

The other three of them nodded, and Varric gave them an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Hadn’t seen you in a couple of days, we were starting to worry,” Norah joked.

“Hey now, I’m a busy man. Sometimes. You know.” Varric shook his head with a short laugh. “Okay, let me see if I can get this...that’ll be a screwdriver for Red, a Jack and Coke for Hawke, a Guinness for me, aaaaaaaaand...umm...a tequila sunrise for Rivaini?”

“Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I’ll take it,” Isabela nodded with a smirk.

 _“Rivaini,_ Varric? Is that really the best you could come up with?” Hawke rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on, Hawke, you know damn well I could’ve dug a lot deeper in retaliation for _Dwarf_ if I really wanted to,” he laughed. “But I didn’t, because I am better than that, so fuck you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it certainly could have been much worse,” Isabela laughed as well. “I’ve heard it all, believe me.”

“I guess as long as you’re okay with it, then, that’s all that matters,” Hawke sighed. “But you’re still an ass, Varric.”

_“We’ll work it all out together, but we’re getting nowhere tonight…”_

“It’s oddly endearing, his ridiculous need to give everyone a stupid nickname,” Isabela smiled.

“I’m right here, you know…”

“You know, he’s actually never given me one. Not sure what to make of that…” Hawke reached for the table behind her to grab its ashtray, as theirs had apparently failed to be previously equipped, which Varric snatched from her hand, sticking his tongue out at her.

“I guess you’re just special,” he teased. “Honestly, I guess it just didn’t really occur to me since no one calls you by your first name, anyway.”

“What is your first name, if you don’t mind my asking?” Isabela pulled out a pack of clove cigarettes as both Hawke and Varric lit their individual menthols.

“Well, aren’t you fancy,” Hawke smirked at her. “My name is Trista. Don’t really know why people don’t use it to be perfectly honest, but just Hawke seems to work for me, so y’know.”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Trista. I’d have said you look more like an Eva or a Zoë. Or a Skye. Ooh, Skye Hawke, now _that_ would be a good name. I mean, you know, Trista’s good, too, I guess.”

She just laughed and shook her head. “And just what are basing these guesses off of?”

Isabela shrugged. “I don’t know, just my personal assessment.”

“Well, Trista’s actually far more fitting than I’m sure my parents could ever have possibly hoped for. Look it up, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Isabela cocked her head inquisitively. “Why, does it mean something interesting?”

She punctuated the question with a quick puff of her cigarette, smirking at Hawke as she just laughed again.

“I’m not gonna spoil it for you,” she teased.

“Fine, fine, make me do the work, then,” Isabela laughed back.

_“Yellow diamonds in the light, and we’re standing side by side as your shadow crosses mine, what it takes to come alive…”_

“Someone stole the jukebox back, I see,” Aveline chuckled as she waved some of Hawke’s stray smoke away from her face, prompting Varric to make a small show of turning his head dramatically away from the table and waving his own hand around to exhale his own, at which everyone including Aveline rolled their eyes.

“Nope, still me,” Isabela answered cheerfully. “I guess I’m just full of surprises."

_“We found love in a hopeless place…”_

“Awww,” Varric leaned forward, putting his chin over his free hand. “It’s just like you and Daisy!”

“Mhm. It’s our song.” The way Isabela’s eyes lit up as she spoke expressly betrayed her deliberately casual tone.

“So, then, you’re a part of this Kirkwall Crew thing?” Hawke slightly shook her head. “I still can’t say that with a straight face…”

_“Turn away ‘cause I need you more, feel the heartbeat in my mind…”_

“Oh good, so you finally told her,” Isabela exhaled with a sigh.

“Maker’s balls, just how much have you two talked about me?”

“Just enough,” Aveline said sternly. “We spare most of the details, but you can’t have thought for one moment that we weren’t going to bring you into this in some form or another.”

“It’s for your own good, kid,” Varric mocked a parental tone with a laugh.

“Yes, Mothers…”

_“We found love in a hopeless place…”_

“I think we’ve even got her convinced to come this week,” he added. “Isn’t that right, Hawke?”

She simply nodded as she put out her cigarette and immediately lit another as Norah returned, carefully placing everyone’s drinks before them one by one.

“Can you actually afford to be doing any of this?” Aveline officially donned her serious mother-voice, and Hawke only shrugged.

“I picked up some under the table work at the Docks last week and I have most of what I made from that left. That, and I took all the cash from the actual mother’s purse a couple days before everything. Although I may or may not have already spent a fair bit of that on...well...I miiiiiiiight have been a little manic at the time...”

“Maker-dammit, Hawke...of course between Varric and me you’ll always have another place to sleep, but you _do_ realise you’re still going to have to see her again eventually, right? Surely there’s going to be a funeral soon, if nothing else.”

All she had to offer was another shrug as she pulled out her phone, nodding to herself as she hastily put it back away, relieved to see she had no missed texts or calls. “I’m sure there will be. And I’ll deal with it then.”

“Mm, yes, you’ll fit right in.” Isabela’s tone was playful, but her face conveyed understanding, assurance, and Hawke could only sigh and take an especially long drag of her cigarette, suddenly overwhelmed by anxiety at the awkward sensation of having all eyes on her.

_“We found love in a hopeless place…”_

Hawke downed her drink much more quickly than she’d intended to, nodding at Norah to indicate she wanted another as she caught her eye upon slamming down the glass.

“Hawke…”

“I’m good, Aveline. Just let me have this tonight, alright? Okay.”

“Hawke?”

She hadn’t meant to tune them all out as her second drink arrived. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a small and petty little jab, but anyone from Pittsburgh might still appreciate the _very_ intentional use of "Psychiatric Institute and Clinic," only ours begins with "Western" instead of "Kirkwall" and I have not been so lucky as this crew to have avoided it, and oh how terrible it is.
> 
> I also just remembered the silly tiny BoJack Horseman reference thrown in there. Ten points to your house if you caught it. ;)


	5. Strangest Ways of Making Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: borderline alcohol abuse(?), reference to self harm, needles, reference to drug abuse, brief reference to Bethany
> 
> There isn't any music in this chapter. I still didn't want to force it at all if it didn't work, and this time I really just could not find a way to make it work. It's still the general theme, but it's not going to be hamfisted. This chapter does also offer the gentle reminder that I am still OTP trash and that there is still going to eventually be some fluff amongst all this angst (although this chapter isn't fluffy by a long shot, you can still see where it's going to lead).
> 
> I would also just like to take a moment to note that, even though it won't be until much later that it comes up, David Bowie is literally the entire reason I ever wanted to write this to begin with, so...enjoy your journey back home and thank you for everything, Starman.

“Ffffffffffffuck...me…”

Hawke slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurry, and immediately began rapidly blinking away at the bright light streaming into her field of vision, what she assumed must have been sunlight from a nearby window.

She thought she might try to move, but her limbs seemed to fail her entirely as she grew increasingly aware of the throbbing behind her eyes, the itch of her right arm. She guessed the latter to be the psychosomatic reminder of old scars, certainly far from an unfamiliar sensation even if it did seem odd to only feel it on the one side, and she desperately tried to will her other hand to make its way over so she could scratch at it. It dawned on her that she had almost no memory of the previous evening, but it felt like a safe bet that things had not ended particularly well.

“Thank you again. Seriously. I’m so sorry to put you out like this.”

Hawke recognised Aveline’s voice, however far away it sounded, laced with worry that was exceptionally pronounced, even for her.

“Oh no, please. It’s not a problem at all. You did the right thing, bringing her here. You’re a good friend, Aveline.”

The second voice was entirely unfamiliar, yet somehow she found the sound of it extremely comforting. She closed her eyes and tried to move her arm again, the second attempt bringing greater success. Slowly but surely her hand made its way over to the opposite forearm, and as she began to run her nails over the harshly textured skin she came across the unexpected feeling of plastic, cold and pliant, discovering the thin length of a tube running alongside.

Her eyes hastily opened again and she forced herself not to close them despite the sharp pang in her head triggered by the light. She anxiously looked around, eyes darting across her surroundings, and saw that there were, in fact, no windows present in the room. Her vision finally focused itself straight onto the ceiling, and she felt it in her head again as she realised it hadn’t been the sun at all, not even close, line of sight fixating on the fluorescent light directly above her. Panic rose into her chest as she came to the conclusion that this must have been a hospital, and she found herself suddenly overwhelmingly alert.

“Oh fuck, fuck no, no…”

Her words started as a mumble, a barely whispered murmur, but before she knew it she was screaming.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

She felt as though her heart leapt out through her throat whenever Aveline and the strange man to whom the other voice must have belonged burst into the room. She jerked upright, causing her to feel as though she was suddenly spinning, and yanked the IV out from her arm with the full intention of running, but her compromised state had other ideas. A wordless shout escaped her lips as she slapped her hands over her eyes, palms digging, fingertips reaching upwards to pull on her own hair, trying to still the world around her.

“Aveline,” she choked out, throat dry, the sudden burn of tears that felt like fire trailing down her cheeks. “What have you...what the fuck is this?”

“Sssshhhhh...you’re alright. You’re alright, Hawke, it’s okay. I promise.” It was the man’s voice again, inexplicably soothing, and it was presumably his hands against her shoulder, gently willing her to lie back down. She didn’t open her eyes when she felt the pressure around her arm, just above the spot from which she’d ripped out her IV where he tied off a tourniquet, nor did she open them when she felt the sting of another needle being inserted into the crook of her elbow and then the relief of the needle and tourniquet being removed. “Just breathe, alright? I need you to breathe. Can you look at me?”

She paused for a moment before finally willing her eyes open once again, blinking back tears as she fixed her gaze upon the stranger pulling up a chair beside her before holding up his index finger. “Follow with your eyes, okay?”

“Just what are you pumping into me? And who the fuck are you? You know my name, it’s only fair. Oh Maker, you’re not going to send me to the fucking Gallows, are you?” Her words were rapidfire as she carefully watched his movements, rendering her still-rising anxiety utterly unconcealable.

His smile was gentle as he put down his hand, evidently satisfied with the test. “No drugs or anything, just some fluids to get you hydrated, is all.”

“Okay, fine, but…”

“Don’t worry, the only way you’d end up at the Gallows from here is over my dead body.” His eyes were warm, reassuring, and Hawke realised her breathing was actually beginning to slow down as he spoke. “As for who the fuck I am, officially that’d be Dr. Cousland but please, just call me Anders.”

Not a hospital, then, but a clinic, the clinic her friends apparently frequented, the doctor they trusted.

“Varric called you ‘Doctor,’” she laughed despite herself.

“Really, now? Hmm. Well, he was probably just trying to make me sound more professional than I actually am. Maker knows how he likes to embellish.” He was still smiling at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the effect it seemed to have.

“Well, _Dr. Cousland,_ can you do something about this fucking pounding in my head?”

“It’s still Anders, and yes, of course. Give me just a moment.”

He stood up and walked over to a large cabinet, opening its door to an assortment of medications, as well as what virtually appeared to be a garden of herbal remedies, along with flasks, mortars and pestles, and still a vast array of other various general medical supplies.

“Nothing you might also be able to find from the Black Emporium, please.” Hawke had almost forgotten that Aveline was there at all before she’d spoken up again. “This one has a _minor_ history of self-medicating.”

Anders nodded, promptly pulling out his quick selections as Aveline automatically made her way to the water cooler on the other side of the doorway.

“Thank you,” he noted as she handed him a styrofoam cup and Hawke opened up a hand to him. “These here are just standard paracetamol, and this one’s an anti-emetic, which should also alleviate any dizziness.”

Hawke just laughed again with a shake of her head, gritting her teeth at the motion she instantly regretted. “Well. You _are_ good.”

“Believe me, I know how this goes. I’ve had more than my share of hangovers.” Still with that smile. “Although I'm not sure I've had anything _quite_ like what you must have going on right now, so it really just seemed more than a fair guess. Well, that and the way you’re looking around like you’re watching something go in circles. Can you sit up for me just a bit?”

Hawke did as she was asked, swallowing down the pills he’d given her as quickly as she was able.

“So. Anders, huh? That’s an interesting name. Were you conceived in the Anderfels and your parents are just weird like that? Or is there more of a story to it?”

“There’s a story,” he nodded with a slight laugh. “There’s _always_ a story. But if you’re really curious, you can ask me about it tomorrow evening.”

“So, umm...Aveline,” she finally decided to ask, “just how bad did it get last night?”

“Enough that you scared the absolute shit out of Varric and me…”

“Enough to have come in with a nice case of alcohol poisoning, I can tell you that much,” Anders interjected. “You’re not nearly as bad off as Aveline seemed to fear, but I can certainly see why she felt the need to get you here.”

“Yes, _that.”_ Aveline stood in the adjacent corner of the room with her arms crossed, speaking in her mother-voice again. “You begged us not to play babysitter, that you just needed one night to forget about things, so we didn’t. It seemed right at the time, I mean we’re all adults here and it’s not like anyone could blame you, but I guess we all got a little carried away and you…”

“What sort of stupid things did I do this time?”

Aveline just shook her head. “Well, aside from the obvious, honestly not much. You were screaming bloody murder at Norah when she cut you off. Varric was pretty smashed himself but he managed to do some damage control there. Although he was still far gone enough that when Donnic came to pick us up we had a little bit of a time having to convince him you weren’t dead. But that’s actually the worst of it.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hawke laughed quietly, grateful to have already noticed a slight difference in her head. “Well, I suppose in all fairness, it’s been much worse.”

“I hate that I can’t even argue that point.” Aveline only shook her head again before turning to Anders. “So she’s okay, then? Nothing to be too concerned about?”

“Seems alright to me, at least,” he nodded. “She’s perfectly coherent, there doesn’t seem to be any cognitive impairment, and I think it’s safe to say everything’s pretty much out of her system by now. Once this bag is empty I can take the IV out and you’ll be free to go. Just drink a lot of water, and something with electrolytes wouldn’t be a bad idea. And from what I was told, Hawke, you’re probably going to be a bit sore for a few days, so just a heads up that it’ll be nothing to worry about.”

Hawke just put her head in her hands again, this time out of frustration rather than pain. “I’m not even sure I want to know. Did I even have that many?”

“Yes,” Aveline answered quickly, barely letting Hawke finish the question. “After about your fourth or fifth whiskey you moved on to Jäger bombs, and I don’t think I need to explain that it went seriously downhill from there. You, umm, ‘tripped’ over some tables. At least that’s what you called it. You thought it was hilarious, made a big show of it until eventually you just...didn’t get back up, so here we are.”

“And Varric,” Hawke finally thought to ask, “is he just sleeping it off, or…?”

Aveline walked over to another nearby chair and sat down. “Yeah, don’t worry about him, although Maker knows he _needs_ the rest. According to Isabela he ended up crashing on his own couch, but you know how he is. Give him a pot of coffee and he’ll be fine. I’m sure you two will find some way to turn this into a giant joke in the next couple of days.”

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes after that. Aveline pulled out her phone and seemed to reply to a text while Anders pulled out some packets of gauze and one for a bandage to prepare for removing Hawke’s IV.

“Donnic’s on his way to grab us,” Aveline spoke up again as she put her phone away. “And if you don’t mind, I think we’re just going to have a Netflix and tea kind of night this time. And if you _do_ mind, well, we're _still_ just going to have a Netflix and tea kind of night this time. There is one more thing, though.”

Hawke looked up at her, the bad news it had to be poorly hidden behind her calm veneer. “Oh?”

“Your mother called. Several times. And then she called me.” Aveline swallowed hard. “The funeral will be tomorrow afternoon, and she wants you to speak.”

Hawke laid back down with a long sigh. “Well, fuck.”


	6. Hello, I'm Not Here Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: _very_ Bethany-centric, dissociation, self-medication, sort-of references to emotional abuse
> 
> ["Oblivion" by Mastodon](http://youtu.be/MzQ5o7b7qf0)
> 
> (Yes, this fic is really harsh on Leandra, but I genuinely believe it's entirely fair. I actually don't think she's criticised enough by the fandom in general, to be honest.)

Bethany’s funeral was beautiful. At least according to Varric, Aveline, and Donnic, who’d all accompanied Hawke to ensure she had as much readily available support as she possibly could.

She and Carver had been perfectly civil with each other, and their mother had been immensely grateful. At least according to Varric, Aveline, and Donnic.

Her speech had been emotional, full of love, had hit all the right points, and it had brought tears to everyone’s eyes. At least according to Varric, Aveline, and Donnic.

Her mother had even been incredibly kind to her, seemingly sincere in her efforts, practically acting as though the past few days hadn’t even happened. At least according to Varric, Aveline, and Donnic.

Hawke would not possibly have been able to confirm any of it, however. Every detail had blown completely past her as if she hadn’t even been there at all. She vaguely remembered arriving, the familiar sensation of all emotion simply slipping away as she walked stoically through the small crowd. She then remembered leaving, she and her friends nervously packing back into Aveline’s car, praying that no one would stop them for small talk or to question why they were going so soon, praying that neither her mother nor her brother would sneak up for their last chance to ask if she might finally be sleeping at home again that night.

Fortunately, they seemed to manage to make their exit largely unnoticed, just the way they wanted it. Just the way the entire day had gone by for Hawke.

_“Close, low, bright eyes fading, faster than stars falling. How can I tell you I failed? Tell you I failed…”_

Hawke tapped her foot along with the music, Aveline’s favourite album and one of the only things she really actively listened to. Hawke and Varric both enjoyed it themselves, though, and car singalongs were a regular occurrence between the three of them. However, this was, of course, not one of those occasions.

Aveline and Donnic were discussing something in the front of the car, and Varric was speaking up himself, his interjections becoming more and more frequent, but Hawke had no idea what they were actually talking about, hearing them without really hearing them. Time passed between her friends’ voices but she was only vaguely aware of any of it.

_“Fallen from grace ‘cause I’ve been away too long, leaving you behind with my lonesome song, now I’m lost in oblivion…”_

She stared out of the window from behind Aveline, and the only real thought on her mind was if her friends would notice if she snuck another Ativan, aware of the fact that they would know she didn’t acquire them legitimately, and the realisation that Bethany must have gotten the pills she’d used to help end her life from the same place Hawke picked up the ones she used to try to ignore hers. Her mind wandered to how her mother would respond if she ever found out, ever made that connection, even though Hawke was fairly certain she and her sister had found it independently of each other. At least she couldn’t imagine that she would ever have mentioned such a thing. Not that her mother would believe her. It was a wonder that Aveline hadn’t gone in with every guard member she could gather and taken every last Black Emporium base by storm. Hawke supposed, however, that she probably had, or at least tried, but she also figured it probably wasn’t the kind of operation that would let getting caught stop them. She still wondered if Aveline’s new position would make any difference, if maybe she should buy what she could while she could. Her mind flew around everywhere but there, to everything but anything that was actually going on around her at the time.

Then she was jerked back to reality by an elbow ramming into her side.

“Hey, we’re here. Get out of the damn car,” Varric laughed, trying to keep things as light as he could for her sake. Despite the sting of his jab inadvertently landing right by one of her larger bruises from their recent escapades at the Hanged Man, she couldn’t help but be grateful for it as she returned the favour.

“Alright, no need to be such an ass about it,” she smiled back at him, both of them painfully aware of what a blatant lie it was.

They exited Aveline’s station wagon and the four of them made their way up to the third floor of her building, everyone just sort of collapsing into the chairs and the couch of the main room upon entering the apartment.

Hawke kicked off the dress shoes she’d donned for the afternoon as she slumped into the cushier of the two armchairs present, happy that she and Aveline wore roughly the same size so she hadn’t had to worry about sneaking back home and trying to catch it while the house was empty. She knew she was still going to have to figure that out eventually, but she wasn’t in any state to think about it quite yet.

“Well, that was draining,” Aveline bluntly admitted as she followed Hawke’s lead, and Donnic stretched his arm around her shoulders.

“That really was a beautiful speech, Hawke,” Donnic said not for the first time, the force behind his smile far more apparent than he likely realised. “I know you were just playing to the crowd, but you honestly did a wonderful job of it.”

“Glad to hear it, but...if anyone wants to fill me in on what I actually said, that’d be great because I’ve honestly no idea,” she confessed to no one’s great surprise.

“The part about how it should bring us all peace to think about Bethany being reunited with your father in the Fade was my personal favourite,” Varric said. “To be fair, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t actually make me feel a thing or two, but it’s probably for the best that I doubt most people there know you well enough to call bullshit on the sincerity of that bit.”

“Welp,” Hawke just shrugged, not sure what else there was to say on the subject as she pulled her phone out of her purse to check the time, amazed that it was only just after 3:00pm. It had already felt like at least a whole day had gone by, even if it had moved much faster for her than it had anyone else. “So, umm, remind me...when does the... _thing_...start?”

“It’s not ‘til 8:00, so we have some time to kill,” Varric responded with what felt like the thousandth forced grin she’d seen just that day.

Hawke couldn’t deny that she appreciated her friends’ efforts, but neither could she help feeling like she might not be able to resist the urge to punch the next fake smile she saw right off of the guilty party’s face.

Only Aveline seemed to be beyond bothering, but Hawke guessed that it probably had more to do with the fact that she and Bethany had also been very close, almost as much as Hawke herself if she was being honest, and infinitely moreso than Varric or Donnic could claim, and the whole ordeal had taken far more out of her than she was willing to admit. Another mask for Hawke’s sake still, then, she gathered, but she had no idea at all how she felt about that particular instance so she decided simply not to think about it, and that was when her guard began to fall.

“Aveline,” she spoke up quietly, a soft shake to her voice, “do you remember how Bethany would always sing to herself whenever she was cooking or baking? You think about it now and you realise she never seemed to know any happy songs, but she made everything sound so cheerful somehow and it just always sort of made your day whenever you heard it.”

“Oh my goodness, yes,” Aveline responded, wiping her eyes. “She had a beautiful voice, too, although Maker knows how hard it could be to tell her that.”

“Oh, she was stubborn as the Void,” Hawke laughed back, not even bothering to try to catch the tears that had until that point been eluding her all day. “But then again, seems that’s just a fucking _classic_ Hawke family trait. You’re right, though, she was...she was just such a gift and it’s a shame she never could see it.”

“Sounds like another family thing to me,” Varric added, with a smile that was far more genuine than any of the previous she’d seen from anyone so far that day had been.

“Thanks,” Hawke responded sincerely.

“Or at least the Hawke daughters,” he corrected himself with a laugh. “Junior’s got potential to grow up a bit, but the jury’s clearly still out on that one as of yet.”

“Bit of a tit, your brother,” Aveline nodded, “but he’ll get there if your mother ever lets him.”

“That, I think, sounds like a conversation for another time,” Donnic chimed in.

Hawke just laughed again. “I knew I liked you.”

“Alright, fine,” Aveline feigned a dramatic sigh. _“Okay,_ how about when we first came here and we were all sleeping on the floor at your miserable uncle’s absolute shithole of a house, except that Carver and your mother were the only ones who could _actually_ properly sleep on it—and Maker, to this day I have no idea how they did it—so Bethany would sneak into the kitchen at night and bring us whatever snacks she could get her hands on while the three of us stayed up just talking or whatever until we’d finally be too tired for even _those_ fucking dreadful conditions to keep us up any longer, and then in the morning he’d be _so_ pissed that he couldn’t figure out why he had so much less of everything than he thought he did, the stingy bastard.”

“Yes! So he started trying to hide shit but he was _terrible_ at it, and Bethany always found everything and he just got angrier and angrier but he was so convinced he’d done _such_ a good job of stashing things that he never even tried to blame anyone for taking...and…and then...” Hawke had to catch her breath, astounded by her own laughter. “And then when Mother finally managed to buy back the old Amell house, Bethany and I stole a whole fucking case of his beer and divided it up between what few boxes of our things we had when we were moving just as one last stand. I’m almost sad we weren’t there to see his face whenever he discovered it was missing.”

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke, you never told me that one.” Aveline’s words punctuated her own laughter, which had bordered on cackling.

“To be fair, I can’t imagine I’d have found the time to mention it in between you and your mission to get me to move in with you here instead of staying with them.”

Everyone stopped laughing then.

“Well,” Aveline sighed again, this time more seriously. “Was I wrong?”

Hawke just shook her head. “No. No, you weren’t. I guess I just...wasn’t ready. Mother would have thrown a damn bitch fit and there was honestly enough going on without throwing that into the fire, and I think there was a big part of me that just didn’t want to leave Bethany behind. For all the good _that_ did, but…”

She suddenly found herself sobbing, every ounce of feeling she’d repressed throughout the day finally flooding to the surface all at once, and then Varric’s hands on her shoulders from behind her, realising she’d somehow ended up slumped over on her knees in front the chair in which she’d previously been sitting.

“Fuck...fuck, I’m sorry,” she started, once again trying to catch her breath.

“Hey now, it’s okay,” Varric assured. “It’s been a rough one and, at least with us, you’re _allowed_ to fucking feel things.”

“Come on, Hawke, up.” Aveline’s hand appeared in front of her face, arm outstretched to assist. Hawke took it and Aveline helped her to her feet, and then ushered her into the kitchen where she finally broke, as well.

Hawke wrapped her arms around Aveline, and they spent a good few minutes just crying into each other’s shoulders.

“Dammit, she could have come, too, at least for a little while...I don’t know, Hawke, but we could have worked it all out somehow, and...Maker, I should _never_ have left you both behind…” Aveline’s choked words had clearly been held back for a very long time, the emotion behind them raw, fragile, wracked with guilt.

“It’s not your fault, you know it’s not your fault,” Hawke choked in response, undeniably grateful that Aveline wasn’t putting on a brave face for her sake any longer, that it was finally someone besides herself who needed consoling. “You know... _knew_ Bethany, even if you would somehow have been able to convince her to leave to begin with, which you probably wouldn't have, she’d never have stayed away long. Mother’s guilt trips would have gotten to her and she’d have gone right back home and nothing would be any different and you can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“Hey,” Aveline half-laughed, “you can’t hog _all_ the illogical self-blame here. You’re gonna have to share.”

Hawke pulled away and smiled as best she could. “I was there, though. I was in the house, I was _right by her_ and I had no idea, and I just...I just feel like I should’ve known. I mean, maybe you’re right, but I could have paid more attention, or just spent more time with her, or—”

“You know how she was, Hawke. There’s just too much stigma around this shit. Society told her she was broken, that she was hopeless, that she was crazy, and she believed it. There’s nothing you could have done to change that, it was too deep in her head and it had been for too long. There’s nothing either of us could’ve done.” Aveline sighed as she reached for the paper towels, visibly calmer as she pressed one over her face, less tense than she’d been since the moment they’d found Bethany.

“Thank you, Aveline.” Hawke took the paper towel being passed to her, patting down her own eyes and cheeks, finding herself strangely amused at the thought of what she must have looked like upon seeing the black splotches she’d left on it, how cliché of a mess her eyeliner must have made.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

Hawke tossed her paper towel into the trash and turned to exit the kitchen and re-join Varric and Donnic, but Aveline placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Hawke, wait, I...I want you to stay.” She took a deep breath as she dropped her arm upon Hawke turning back to face her once again. “I understand why you didn’t before, and to a point I even sort of get why your mother’s wanted to keep you practically under lock and key this whole time, but I think enough is finally enough, don’t you?”

Hawke could only nod in response, and Aveline mimicked, evidently taking it as her cue that it was safe to continue.

“You’re 27 years old, she can’t actually stop you from leaving, and it just isn’t _healthy_ for you not to anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time, really, but...Bethany’s gone, Hawke, you don’t need to stay to protect her anymore. Move in here, the second bedroom’s basically already yours, anyway. You can take your time to get a job, I’ve been handling the rent here on my own for long enough already, but you can do that. You can find some work and you can get your shit and you can live here, and it doesn’t even have to be in that order. Okay?”

“What about Donnic? I mean, it’s going on about a year, right? Aren’t you gonna want to move him in at some point in the near future?”

“Yes, we _have_ started talking about that, but it can certainly wait a bit longer. In any case, I’ve already talked to him about _this,_ too, and he’s perfectly fine with having an extra flatmate whenever the time does come.”

Hawke took Aveline back into her arms, holding her as tight as she could. “Okay.”

At last they returned to the main room together, Hawke moving back into her chair and Aveline flopping back down next to Donnic, who kissed the top of her head as she leaned into his chest.

“Everything alright with you two?” Donnic asked, brushing back a strand of Aveline’s hair.

“Yes, actually,” Hawke answered, slightly taken aback by the fact that she meant it. “Or as alright as we can be, I guess.”

Aveline agreed with a nod and curled her legs up over Donnic’s lap.

“I think it’s probably a really good thing this happened today,” Varric added, and Hawke reluctantly agreed.

“You know what, I think at this point I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for this,” she admitted, pulling her knees up against her chest.

“Well, we’ve still got plenty of time, so you can get changed and fix your make-up, and then coffee it up outside with me as much as you need,” he added with a laugh.

Hawke put her feet down and stood back up. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I like that idea.”

She made her way to the bedroom and peeled off the dress Aveline had also lent her, pulling out the bottle of Ativan she’d been carrying with her before moving to sort through her own clothing. She looked at it for a few seconds and then tossed it into her travel bag, opting to move right into comfortably adjusting her appearance instead.

“You can do this, Hawke,” she whispered to herself as she set her cigarettes, lighter, and phone aside on the nightstand and pulled out the pair of pants she wanted. “At the very least, you’re going to fucking try. You owe them _that_ much.”


	7. Wavering, Yet Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to Bethany, implied past abuse, reference to self harm, suicidal ideation
> 
> No music in this chapter.
> 
> Just a heads up that this chapter is a longer one, and that it is very expository, but it finally introduces the rest of the Crew and gets right into starting to establish who everyone is in this universe.

Varric and Aveline stood with Hawke outside the door to the clinic, being as patient with her as anyone could as she dragged her feet, forcing herself not to just turn on her heels and run through the streets of Darktown never to look back, willing herself not to give in to the urge to just get out of there as fast as she possibly could.

“Okay. Okay.” Hawke took a deep breath, trying to force down all the anxiety she was afraid was ready to consume her entirely. “Fuck, this is weird, but okay. Okay, I can do this.”

“You’ll be fine, Hawke, I promise,” Varric assured her as she reached for the doorknob, her hands shaking as she finally brought herself to turn it.

The overhead lights flickered briefly as they turned on automatically upon their entrance, and Hawke could only look around nervously, her sense of dread made no better by the uncomfortable memory of her previous visit, and she couldn’t help the way she jumped when Aveline tapped her on the shoulder.

“We’re going all the way to the back. Follow me.”

It was neither a large nor a complicated set-up, but the minor twists through the couple of hallways and past the few exam rooms felt downright labyrinthian to Hawke as they made their way towards their destination.

“You’re alright, it’s fine, everything’s fine, you’ll be okay, you’re alright,” she whispered to herself a few times over as they walked, hoping that she might be able to make herself believe it as they entered the room where Anders greeted them.

He moved to hug Aveline and then Varric, following them by extending his hand to Hawke. She took it nervously, and if the concern in his face was any indication, the shake in her own hands apparently had not yet let up.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he told her with a sincere smile, which she returned with a nod. “And a few minutes early, no less. You can have a seat, it shouldn’t be too much longer until the others start making their way in.”

There were seven chairs that had been arranged to form a circle, and Hawke sat between her friends in the space they’d left there for her sake.

“Yeah, we wanted to give ourselves a little time just in case this one tried to make a run for it,” Varric laughed, and Hawke shook her head and crossed her arms as she tried to push down her still-present desire to do just that.

“Don’t worry, Hawke, you don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” Anders assured her as he took a seat across from them. “You can just observe, just listen, get a feel for everything if that’s all you feel up for this time. All I ask is that you take things seriously. There are no judgments here, we let everyone finish what they need to say before speaking up ourselves, we respect boundaries, and basically we’re just here to support each other. That and, not sure if they mentioned this, we don’t talk about anything that’s said here beyond these walls, and we don’t tell anyone about this unless it’s an explicit invitation.”

Hawke nodded once again. “Yeah, the first rule of Kirkwall Crew is you do not talk about Kirkwall Crew. Don’t worry, they did tell me that bit. Although, from what Varric said, you might want to pass that along to Lirene.”

“Oh, I have,” he answered with a laugh. “Lirene is a wonderful person and she’s done a lot of good for the Fereldans of Kirkwall with her charity work and even just by having her shop, and Maker knows how much she’s done for me, but she gets a little carried away sometimes.”

“Are you from Ferelden, too, then?”

Anders glanced at the watch on his wrist and then at the door, and she guessed he was trying to gauge what kind of time he might have for providing some of his own backstory, a question that was promptly answered for him when the door opened and Isabela made her way in, hand in hand with a woman Hawke could only assume to be Merrill.

“Well. How about we get into that once everyone else arrives, alright?” He smiled at her again before he stood up to hug Isabela and her apparent girlfriend, who sat themselves down in between Varric and Anders.

“Hello, I’m Merrill,” Isabela’s companion cheerfully confirmed with a wave. “And you must be Hawke!”

“Trista,” Isabela chimed in with a smirk. “Tumult. Noun. Highly distressing agitation of mind or feeling; turbulent mental or emotional disturbance.”

Hawke laughed earnestly at Isabela as she recited the dictionary definition of the meaning of her first name, impressed that she’d actually remembered or even cared about their brief conversation on the subject well enough to do so. “I see you did look it up, then?”

“Yeah,” Isabela laughed back in turn. “You certainly weren’t fucking around on that one.”

“Nope,” Hawke chuckled, even as she betrayed herself by crossing her legs in addition to her arms, subconsciously trying to close herself off at the strange feeling of vulnerability coming back over her at the comment.

Before she knew it the door opened again and the final chair was occupied, this time by a very angry looking man with harsh scarring visible on at least his face and neck, a stark contrast to Merrill’s delicately intricate facial tattoos. Hawke couldn’t help the pang of guilt she felt at how curious she was to learn the stories behind them, behind everyone there, just as she was almost ashamed to admit that being surrounded by so many other people who could allegedly understand her, and vice versa, was every bit as comforting as the experience was nerve-wracking.

“Alright, then,” Anders began after the final member of the party had been seated. “Welcome back, and as you can see we have a new face tonight, as Varric and Aveline have brought their friend Hawke to join us.”

She waved shyly as she felt everyone’s eyes turn towards her, pressing her chin into her chest as she set her gaze towards the floor.

“We’ll let her introduce herself properly whenever she’s ready,” Anders said as she felt what seemed like every muscle in her body growing tense, “but if anyone would like to reintroduce themselves for her now, say something about themselves, go ahead.”

Hawke found herself amused by how strangely official this all came across as considering what she’d been told, and she used that thought to try to ground herself to her surroundings, to keep herself present in the moment. She had, after all, promised her friends she would be there, and so she tilted her head back up, trying to keep her focus so she could properly fulfill that promise.

“Well, we’ve already sort of met, but,” Isabela was the first to stand. “I’m, umm...for right now I suppose I’ll just say that I’m originally from Rivain, but most of my more _interesting_ stories are from Ferelden, when I lived in Denerim for a while before I moved to Kirkwall. And I guess just to put it simply, I got married when I was very young, it did not go very well, and after that I spent some years just sort of dodging any real human contact, but now I’m here.”

Hawke just smiled at her, taken aback by her honesty, wondering from Isabela’s demeanor just how long it had taken her to be able to speak even that openly to a stranger, and she was not at all surprised when Merrill was the next to stand.

“Well, like I said, I’m Merrill and I’m...I’m honestly just not very good with people.” Hawke noted the way she nervously wrung her hands, eased only slightly by the fact that Isabela had placed her own gently on her forearm. “I moved around a lot growing up and I was pretty sheltered, so no one ever really thought anything of it, but after the last family I lived with made a very strong point to tell me that something must be very wrong with me, I came to the city to be on my own and maybe try to figure things out, and now I guess I’m still just sort of going from there.”

Merrill sat back down and Hawke’s eyes moved to the remaining stranger, who looked barely more comfortable to be there than she did.

“My name is Fenris,” he spoke up after a pause. He did not stand, but only moved slightly forward in his seat. “I ended up here after running from Tevinter. I’m not actually sure I’ve really stopped running, to be honest, but for the moment I seem to be in one place, at least. Isabela was the first friend I made in Kirkwall and she introduced me to this, and I...I’ve just got a lot of pieces I’m still trying very hard to pick up. But if it’s alright, I’d like to leave it at that for now.”

He shifted back into his chair, and Anders gave him an understanding nod before looking back over to Hawke.

“I know you don’t need Aveline or Varric to make any introductions, so is there anything you’d like to contribute, or…?”

She took a deep breath, playing with the idea for a moment, finding the courage to make eye contact as she exhaled. “You first.”

Anders just smiled as though he had expected her response, and he moved to the edge of his seat very much like Fenris had done.

“Well, as we started to discuss earlier, I did grow up in Ferelden, myself, but you were right that my name comes from the Anderfels. That’s where my family originates, but we moved when I was very young. Most of my time in Ferelden, however, was spent inside the walls of Kinloch Hold Hospital, and this whole thing exists because _that_ is a fate I’d like to keep as many others like me from as I possibly can.”

Hawke’s eyes widened at his words, and she already began to mentally prepare herself for the epic “I told you so” she knew Varric would have in store for her later.

“Still, though, your parents really named you Anders?” Hawke leaned back with a smirk, defiantly trying to assert herself, to give herself something to hide behind to keep her emotions in control.

“No,” he shook his head. “They just couldn’t come up with anything better at Kinloch. After my father sent me away, I think it was at least a good year before I said a single word. He’d simply made a call that I needed to be taken there and just left me behind, so they didn’t have any records about me at all. I think they must have made the connection about who the man they’d spoken to was to me, though, or for all I know he may have even given it away himself even though I know he never gave them any names, and as I recall he had quite the Ander accent, so that was what they called me. Or, more accurately, I was simply ‘that Ander kid’ for a while, and that eventually evolved into ‘Anders,’ and then that just ended up sticking.”

“What’s your real name, then?”

“My real name,” he laughed, “is Anders. At least it is now. As far as my birth name, well...I honestly couldn’t tell you. I haven’t heard it since I was 12 years old, and a lot has happened since then.”

Anders did not drop his casual demeanor or his smile as he finished his thought, but Hawke picked up on the minor change in his inflection, could see the way he looked down with only his eyes as he spoke, a tinge of melancholy briefly taking over them.

“But you said you’re a Cousland, right? Like, _the_ Couslands? How does that work, then?”

“I will answer any other questions you have as best I can, Hawke, but for right now I think we have used enough time talking about me. You still don’t have to, of course, but is there anything you’d like to say about yourself? Or would you like us to move on?”

She uncrossed her arms and her legs and leaned forward, digging her elbows into her thighs and she placed her head in her hands, once again mentally prodding herself, reminding herself that she promised she would try, deciding that if she didn’t say something at this meeting then she wasn’t sure she ever would.

“I’m Hawke.” She momentarily worried that her words would be slightly muffled by her position, but she decided that was still better than altering her stance, and she purposely jammed her elbows in deeper as she spoke again, allowing her words to come more quickly than she could think about them, almost intentionally not giving herself time to stop them. “I, umm...well, I guess I’m just kind of a disaster? I tend to have periods of time when I don’t feel anything at all and I _love_ them because when I do feel, I feel too damn much and then I just turn into a giant fucking mess. Aveline’s always said my sister and I have needed help for a long time but my father had run away from the Gal—from Kirkwall Psychiatric and my parents vowed they’d never make their children go through something like that, but I think my mother _may_ have taken their intentions a bit too far because today was my sister’s funeral and I’m pretty sure the main reason I’m here right now is that Aveline and Varric are both afraid I’ll be next.”

She felt Varric’s hand move behind her to rest against her back as she finished speaking, barely distracting from the way her chest tightened. She couldn’t help but feel proud of herself that she’d managed to speak at all, however, even if she had no plans of admitting it.

“And what do _you_ think of that?” Anders’s tone was calm, completely unlike the kind of response she was used to, and she was amazed that she actually wanted to answer, even if she had not been prepared for there to be a follow-up.

“I think,” she allowed herself to put her arms down, to actually look at Anders as she spoke up, “I think the part of me that loves them wants to be here, to do something so they can be wrong. But I _know_ that there’s a large part of me that’s just biding time until they turn out to be right, and when...umm, _if_ that day comes, it’ll be okay because without me and my never-ending bullshit they’ll see that their lives are much easier.”

She ended her statement with a long sigh, still astounded at how much more she’d confessed about her general mental state in a few minutes than she’d ever explicitly stated aloud in her entire life before. She figured it could have been the lack of her biological family, the group’s mandated lack of judgment, the support from her closest friends, or even the fact that most of the people around her were still strangers, that their lack of attachment to each other made honesty somehow simpler to come by. It was most likely a combination of all those things, and while the strain she felt in her chest hadn’t gone away, she suddenly found herself in full agreement with Aveline and Varric that they should have brought her there sooner, and that this might have been good for Bethany, too.

“Is there something you would like to add, Aveline?” Anders’s question drew Hawke’s attention to her right, where Aveline was dabbing her fingertips beneath her eyes, presumably less subtly than she’d hoped.

“I’d just never heard you say it in actual words, is all, Hawke,” she answered as she turned directly towards her. “I know you have to know, at least a part of you _has to know_ that that’s not true. I worry about you, yeah. I worry all the fucking time, and you can be a huge pain in my ass, but if I didn’t genuinely love you or want you to be part of my life, you wouldn’t be. You know me, Hawke, I don’t take shit.”

Aveline paused to laugh, and Hawke chewed on her bottom lip as she spoke, nodding at the sentiment.

“I’ve already lost enough, Hawke,” she continued after a moment, pulling out the chain she always wore around her neck, firmly grasping the ring it held that usually remained beneath her shirt. “I love Donnic, I do, but Wesley was still the first man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the first man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, and it’ll always hurt that it only got to work that way for one of us. I don’t have my parents anymore, and we may not have shared DNA, but Bethany was a sister to me, too, just as much as you are. And you’ve lost enough yourself that you should understand how much I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Thanks,” Hawke replied in a near whisper, not sure of what else to say.

“And hey, don’t forget, _I’ve_ already lost a sibling, too,” Varric added. “Going through it with Bartrand was enough, so _you_ don’t get to go anywhere on me, okay? No pressure or anything.”

He chuckled at his last comment, and Hawke nodded, slightly overwhelmed but unable to deny that it felt good to hear how much her friends cared, still taken aback by how strangely reassuring everything around her seemed.

“Love you guys, too,” she said after a brief pause, and she nodded again towards Anders in hopes that they would all move on to everyone else, and it seemed he understood as he turned his head towards Isabela and Merrill.

“So,” he began with a smile, “how are things going with you two?”

The majority of the rest of the evening was spent between the two of them, mostly discussing their newly developing relationship. Hawke learned that there’d been a mutual attraction for months beforehand, but that Isabela had a lot of trust issues as a result of her ex-husband, and Merrill had a lot of anxiety in general, but they had been spending most of their free time together since they’d met and eventually they’d realised they couldn’t deny themselves their feelings towards each other any longer, feelings they had apparently been the last to know about. Hawke couldn’t help but feel happy for them, even though she barely knew them, and she promptly assumed that how quickly she felt herself care about them would lead into another “I told you so” later on. Fenris spoke a little about how he was worried he was starting to isolate, about how it was something he was trying to work past, but it was clear that he was the most reserved of the group, and that the presence of a new person did not seem to help. Varric and Aveline seemed content not to use much time, themselves, with Aveline only very briefly expressing grief over losing Bethany and Varric remaining the most silent Hawke had ever seen him, and she was surprised by how the time seemed to have flown whenever the group agreed to call it a night.

Hawke dawdled, however, as everyone but she and her friends filed out from the room, deciding instead to help Anders with the task he’d moved onto of stacking the chairs in a back corner.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” he spoke up when she brought one over.

“I know,” she simply shrugged after placing it on top of the couple that had already been moved. “I just wanted to find out a little more about your story, I suppose.”

“Alright, what would you like to know?” He smiled at her, picking up another chair.

“I _am_ still curious about the Cousland thing,” she responded as she did the same.

He shook his head with an awkward laugh, and she gathered he wasn’t used to being asked for personal details. “Okay. You’re right, my surname is from _the_ Couslands, but I’m not actually related to them. Not too long after the Fereldan Civil War had ended, I’d made a run for it, and _that_ time I’d managed to make it all the way to Amaranthine, where Elissa Cousland and her troops were rebuilding, and she and I just kind of stumbled into each other. Guards caught up to me, but she just tore into them. It was beautiful, really. No one had ever stood up for me like that before, and I think she knew it. So she used her family name and position to get them to back off.”

“So,” Hawke pressed, “I still don’t see how you ended up _sharing_ a name with one of Ferelden's foremost political families.”

Anders replaced the final chair and leaned against the wall to face her. “She’d taken in a few who’d been dispossessed by the war, and even though that didn’t apply to me I figured I just sort of fit into the pattern, but she seemed to have a soft spot for me, to be honest. She was always making an extra point to be sure I was eating, and she even got me a cat. I think I was the one she worried for the most because I was the only one there at risk for being dragged back to the Void from which I came. I was far too old for her to _actually_ adopt me or anything, older than her in fact, but it was no secret she certainly wished she could. So she just used her political influence and basically told the world ‘I can do what I want’ and sort of... _conscripted_ me into the family, I suppose would be the best way to phrase it. We made the name legal and that made the connection enough for a while. She helped me get into med school, and I got to be part of a family for a bit. It was a very positive experience for me, but then she got called away on some sort of important political bullshit and I just didn’t feel safe there anymore, so I decided it was time to run again. Ended up here, and that’s that.”

“Why Kirkwall?” Hawke leaned into the corner where the chairs had been stacked, which was terribly uncomfortable but she hardly noticed, distracted by her interest in learning everything she could about him, finding herself far more curious than she’d thought possible about what could make the kind of man who would even think to do something like run an illegal underground therapy ring in his spare time.

“I have my reasons.” He crossed his arms much like Hawke had done for most the evening, and his sleeves turned up a bit to reveal several scattered scars, which she noted looked very much like her own. “But I’m afraid our relationship has not yet levelled up enough to unlock my full tragic backstory.”

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh at the remark, which even he seemed amused by himself, and she officially decided that she liked him, that she even liked the environment around her.

“I can respect that,” she simply nodded as her laughter trailed off, suddenly feeling much more serious. “But...thank you, Anders.”

“For what?” He stood upright and uncrossed his arms, and Hawke felt like she could see his guard lowering.

“Just...thank you, I guess,” she replied nervously. “So you like cats?”

It was Anders’s turn to laugh again as he just looked towards Varric and Aveline, who were whispering to each other across the room from them.

“I think your friends are probably going to want to leave at some point, don’t you?”

Hawke straightened up herself, the pang in her back from her position against the chairs then making itself known, and she nodded with a smile. “Fair enough.”

She moved to hug Anders, surprising herself at the gesture, and turned to rejoin Aveline and Varric before he stopped her, pulling a card from his pocket. “Wait, Hawke...here’s my number. You can call or text, whatever you’re most comfortable with. If you ever need anything, or even just want to talk, do _not_ hesitate to use it, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied with a wave, turning towards her friends again, who abruptly ceased their conversation as soon as she approached them, the three of them exiting in a strangely comfortable silence.


	8. Unexpected Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self harm, references to suicide/suicide attempt, dissociation, drinking, insitutionalisation, reference to depressive, manic, and mixed episodes, referenced hypersexuality
> 
> ["Too Far to Turn Back" by Abney Park](http://youtu.be/88ZJEFXCqew)   
>  ["Exit Music (for a Film)" by Radiohead](http://youtu.be/RByvzmmEFiQ)
> 
> Anyone who knows me knew this chapter was coming. Although it was originally intended to be pure fluffy trash, so...oops. I mean, that is still kind of a thing, certainly much more than it has been, but it definitely didn't turn out to be as much so as I'd initially planned.

Hawke awoke to the sound of Varric and Aveline giggling, the noise of it carrying a bit too well from the main room.

“Stuff it, Varric.”

“Oh come on, are you _really_ trying to tell me you didn’t see that? It’s Daisy and Rivaini all over again. Or, shit, you and Donnic. No wonder—”

“Oh no, I see it. I mean, they’re gonna fuck, I’d almost be willing to put money on that, but…”

“Okay, _now_ which one of us is being crude there, Red?”

Hawke got out of bed at that, picking up her morning essentials from the nightstand and stuffing them into the pockets of her pajama pants, and she made her way out to greet her friends and their shameless gossip.

“Who in the Void are you two talking about?” Hawke yawned at them as she entered the room, and they both just laughed even harder upon her asking.

“No one, Hawke, don’t worry abou—”

“You and Blondie,” Varric interrupted Aveline’s poor attempt to be tactful, which caused her to abruptly close her mouth and awkwardly lean back into the couch.

“Like I even would’ve let that answer slide, Aveline.” Hawke shook her head as she sat down beside her. “But for fuck’s sake, you two…”

“Coffee should still be hot if you’d like some,” Aveline stated flatly, a slight tint of red appearing in her cheeks, seemingly embarrassed by Hawke’s timing and their conversation.

“Come on, Hawke,” Varric interjected. “At least tell us your thoughts on everything last night.”

“I’m planning to go back next week, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she answered as she stood back up to make good on Aveline’s mention of hot coffee, not at all surprised when Varric rose to follow her.

“Is that all?”

Hawke shrugged as they reached the kitchen and she grabbed a mug, pouring herself a little to test the temperature, finding it satisfactory, then pouring herself a full cup.

“Maker’s balls, just tell me what you want to know,” she smiled, teasing, pretending he could possibly have meant anything aside from the obvious, and bypassing the main room’s seating in favour of her routine morning excursion to the balcony. She saw Aveline hesitate for a moment, then shake her head as she moved to join them.

The three of them took their usual places at the table before Varric began prodding her again.

“Well…?”

“Well, what?” Hawke defiantly rolled her eyes at him as she lit a cigarette. “You guys win, it actually _was_ a positive experience. I really liked everyone there, and yeah, it honestly felt really good to get some stuff out like that. So, yes, you are victorious, Mothers! Happy?”

“I am, Hawke,” Aveline responded quickly, sincerely, and Hawke had no question about how much she meant it, even if Varric likely only took it as a deflection.

“I am, too, honestly,” he added. “But come on, are you really going to tell me you and Blondie weren’t making some _serious_ heart eyes at each other after everyone else left?”

Hawke rolled her eyes as she took a sip of coffee, followed by a puff of her cigarette, and then she looked up to make direct eye contact with him as she rolled them again.

“That’s what I thought,” he said smugly, and Hawke stuck her tongue out at him before taking another drag.

“Okay, I mean,” she began on the exhale, “Maker knows that he is fucking _beautiful,_ I’ll give you that, but come on, how would that even work?”

“To be fair, it couldn’t technically count as a conflict of interest,” Aveline spoke up with a laugh.

 _“Anyway,”_ Hawke retorted, “I’ve only just properly met him, so don’t get too excited.”

“So you do like him, then?” Varric’s smirk was borderline obscene and Hawke nearly wanted to slap it right off of his face.

“I...I think I could,” she admitted. “I’ve never done _liking_ a person, though, you fucking know that. Banging them and then never speaking to them again, yeah, sure, that’s typically worked out pretty well for me...at least for the most part. But I don’t know about _liking_ them. Plus, then they have to like me. As a person. That all just seems way too complicated to me, honestly.”

Aveline made a face at Varric that Hawke strongly suspected meant she’d already brought that point to his attention, and Hawke immediately felt like she’d transferred her previous embarrassment over to her.

“But,” Hawke continued, “I obviously can’t try _that_ either...Aveline...because I’m going to see him again, so it’s a moot point.”

“You could always just see him again, you know,” Varric replied seriously. “I honestly think you two could be really good for each other.”

Aveline nodded in agreement, and that’s when it struck Hawke.

“You fucking anticipated this, didn’t you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Aveline’s smug smirk mirrored Varric’s, and Hawke sighed as she put out her cigarette and then lit another.

“I hate you guys sometimes,” she laughed.

“We know, dear,” Varric said in the mother-voice Hawke’s friends seemed to love using on her so much. “We know.”

“Well,” Aveline said after a brief pause, “I do officially go back to work on Monday, but that means we’ve got a few more days to do basically whatever the fuck we want before responsibilities set back in. We could always invite everyone out, hit up the Hanged Man. Not just Anders, of course, but definitely him, too.”

“Really, Aveline? You’re actually suggesting the Hanged Man after the other night?”

“Yes,” Varric chimed in. “Because you’re going to be good this time, aren’t you, Hawke?”

“Besides,” Aveline spoke up again, “it’s karaoke night. I know damn well you can’t argue with that.”

“True, you know I’m _always_ a slut for a good karaoke night,” Hawke laughed. “Although the last time we tried that, it wasn’t honestly fantastic. They didn’t really have anything in terms of a decent selection, at least.”

“They’ve got a new DJ,” Varric said with a grin. “And I have it on good authority that you’re going to find this one a lot more interesting.”

“Besides,” Aveline added, “when was the last time we even did anything like this?”

Hawke shook her head, knowing full well that, if nothing else, the last part was a very good point.

“Fine,” she conceded with a mockingly exasperated sigh. “Let’s do it.”

***

“I should’ve fucking guessed,” Hawke laughed as she walked with Varric and Aveline into the Hanged Man, immediately spotting Isabela setting up equipment behind the DJ booth, who greeted them with an enthusiastic wave.

“You guys finally came!” Isabela seemed genuinely excited to see them, and Hawke couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Aveline explained. “So we figured we might as well take advantage of that bit of freedom, you know?”

“Absolutely, Big Girl,” Isabela said with a wide grin before stepping out to hug them.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Hawke asked as she stepped back. “It’s been a while since we’ve come out for it, but last time we did there was a middle-age gentleman who didn’t seem to know that modern music outside of pop radio even existed who was running it.”

“It’s only been a few months,” Isabela laughed. “I have to say, though, that I do believe I’ve already built up the best karaoke catalogue in all of the Free Marches.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” Hawke challenged with a smile.

“Well, there are books out on the tables,” she waved towards the room around them. “Now, this thing’s meant to start in about ten minutes, so if you don’t mind…”

Hawke, Aveline, and Varric took their cue and made their way over to a large table towards the centre of the tavern, where Merrill was already seated, looking just as happy to see them as Isabela had been.

“It’s lovely to see you all outside of Darktown,” she greeted them with a chuckle, to which both Aveline and Varric nodded.

“Same to you, Daisy,” Varric smiled, and Hawke decided that of all the nicknames she’d ever seen him give someone, Merrill’s was probably her favourite. “We invited the whole crew out tonight, so hopefully everyone will make it.”

“Oh, how nice!” Merrill was positively chipper at the prospect and Hawke once again caught herself feeling genuinely pleased by their reception. “I certainly hope so, too.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, Merrill,” Hawke noted, “you’re very friendly for someone who doesn’t think they’re good with people.”

“Oh, umm, thank you?” Merrill paused and Hawke nodded, so she continued. “I’ve been told I’m not, at least. I can see it, though. It’s often difficult for me to initiate conversations and I tend to miss a lot of jokes and I just...I don’t know, I get off on tangents sometimes and it usually seems like no one wants to listen. Anders says he’s read about this, that it sounds like I’m probably on the autism spectrum, but that it might actually be for the best I’ve never really seen anyone about it or been diagnosed or anything with the way the system is, that they’d just treat it like a problem that needs to be fixed. Anders, though, he says it doesn’t mean I’m broken, it just means I process things differently than a lot of people and that that’s okay.”

“He’s right, Daisy,” Varric added.

Merrill smiled gratefully. “I mean, I’ve still got some issues with anxiety and depression I need to work on, as well, but...thanks, Varric.”

“Well, how about it? What sorts of things do you like to talk about, then?” Hawke could feel Aveline and Varric’s gaze on her as she asked, and it made her a little nervous even though she knew they were just glad to see her so engaged.

“Oh! Well, I’m a historian,” Merrill replied eagerly. “Are you familiar with the Dalish at all?”

“I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know much. If I remember what little they covered in school correctly, they’re basically a collective of polytheistic nomadic tribes, right?”

“Yes, that’s a pretty good way to summarise it,” Merrill nodded happily. “I’m Dalish myself, so we clearly do still exist but it’s rapidly becoming a lost culture, so I’ve dedicated a fair bit of my life to research and preservation, and...oh, hi, Anders!”

Everyone followed Merrill’s example, turning their heads towards the door as Anders entered the tavern.

“Shall we continue this later, then?” Hawke asked Merrill as Anders reached the table.

“Yes, definitely!”

Anders sat down and nodded his greetings at everyone one by one, to which they all reciprocated, just as the sound of Abney Park suddenly came blaring out of the Hanged Man’s surround sound speakers.

_“We’ve come too far to turn back, it’s way too dark to unpack. We’d stop right here but we’re slipping; the ground is loose, we’re not gripping…”_

“Hello again, Hanged Man, I am DJ Siren at your service,” Isabela began, clearly leading into a regular introductory schtick Hawke elected to ignore in favour of picking up one of the large song catalogues Isabela had gestured towards just minutes before.

“Have you been to one of her shows yet before, Anders?” Aveline asked him as he, too, reached for a book.

“No, this is my first. Will you be singing, Aveline?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve been known to duet with Hawke in the past, but that’s only if you get me drunk enough. So not tonight, I’m afraid, since we’re going to be pacing ourselves. Isn’t that right?”

Hawke raised her book to cover her face with a sigh. “Yes, Mother.”

Anders just smiled. “It’s sweet how much your friends care about you, Hawke. It’s like you’ve created your own little family and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything quite like it, honestly.”

She couldn’t help but smile herself as she nodded. “Oh, I know. Believe me, I do. Aveline and Varric have always been far too good to me and I don’t deserve them.”

Varric cocked his head at Hawke and she realised what she’d said, which she absolutely had not meant to voice out loud.

_“We’re way in over our heads, it seems, and this place is coming apart at the seams. We can’t stop or control our direction; the further we go, the less protection…”_

Hawke just buried herself further into the song selection, grabbing a fistful of queue slips and a pen from the centre of the table as she found some ideas from the impressively comprehensive list, determining that Isabela had not been exaggerating after all.

“You will be, yourself, then?” Aveline looked back at Anders as he grabbed a slip as well.

“Might as well have some fun, I suppose,” he chuckled softly, a touch of self-consciousness showing.

Merrill moved to stand upon filling out a couple of slips of her own, again waving towards the door as she rose, denoting Fenris’s entrance.

“Good to see you,” Anders told him as he joined them at their table, and Hawke found herself pleased to see that he was smiling.

“I figured it might be entertaining to see you all make asses of yourselves behind a microphone,” Fenris laughed. “It was nice to get an invitation and it just seemed a better bet than drinking alone at home, I suppose.”

“Oh shit,” Hawke said to no one in particular as Norah appeared to greet the table, to which Varric practically giggled.

“No hard feelings, Hawke,” Norah told her cheerfully. “You’re not the worst pain in the ass customer I’ve had to deal with, don’t you worry. We _are,_ however, never serving you that many ever again, and Varric and I have agreed that you don’t get to do tabs anymore.”

“Understood,” Hawke nodded, grateful that the interaction was far less painful than it could have been. “I guess I’ll just have a Lionshead?”

“Good call,” Norah agreed with a smile. “What’s everyone else having?”

“Do you actually have any authority here, Varric?” Merrill asked after Norah had walked away with everyone’s orders.

“Well,” he grinned as he pulled the ashtray from the middle of the table to sit between him and Hawke, “aside from the fact that I live upstairs and they love me here, I’m actually in talks right now to buy the place.”

Aveline punched Varric in the arm. “You ass! Why hadn’t you told us?”

“The element of surprise?” Varric just chuckled as Aveline punched him again.

“You’re going to kill him at this rate,” Isabela joked as she sat down behind them, pulling forward a chair from the next table over. “I wouldn’t fuck with her if I were you, Dwarf.”

“Fuck you, Rivaini,” Varric laughed. “She knows she loves me. Whether she likes it or not.”

“Well, then,” Isabela shook her head. “Are any of you fuckers actually going to put any songs in, or did you just come to disappoint me?”

Fenris laughed as Isabela winked at them. “There is not enough alcohol on this earth.”

“I guessed as much from you,” she teased. “Seriously, though, guys. You’re killing me here.”

Anders, Merrill, and Varric handed her a few slips each, which she happily took and nearly bounced back over to the booth.

Isabela promptly called Anders up to join her and handed him a microphone, and Hawke continued to indecisively suss through the catalogue as she lit a cigarette.

_“Wake from your sleep, the drying of your tears. Today, we escape. We escape…”_

Hawke looked up with a start upon hearing the words, alarmed by how well Anders was able to mimic Thom Yorke’s voice as he sang. She choked on her exhale and tried to play it off as a cough, but it was clear no one had been fooled.

“Are you alright, Hawke?” Everyone at the table asked her almost in unison, even Merrill and Fenris, practically strangers still, looking concerned enough that Hawke couldn’t help but find it extremely disconcerting.

_“Breathe, keep breathing. Don’t lose your nerve. Breathe, keep breathing. I can’t do this alone…”_

Hawke just about yanked her beer out from Norah’s grasp when she returned, chugging with shaking hands, suddenly resentful towards their newly agreed upon change in policy regarding her drinking.

_“Sing us a song, a song to keep us warm. There’s such a chill, such a chill…”_

She had even startled herself by how strongly she was reacting to something so seemingly simple, and she fidgeted at the table, trying and failing just to focus on finishing her cigarette.

“Hawke!”

She felt Varric grab her wrist and she realised that the cigarette had in fact gone out, only then noticing the burn just above her other wrist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Hawke tried to breathe, knowing the song was nearing its end, and Varric placed his hand over her cigarette pack when she tried to reach for another.

“Just breathe right now, okay? You can have another one in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever…”

_"Now we are one, in everlasting peace. We hope that you choke, that you choke..."_

“You’re okay, Hawke,” Aveline added. “You’re okay.”

“It shouldn’t be this fucking easy,” she said solemnly as she placed her head in her hands. She took in a deep breath and gritted her teeth when she breathed out, hissing as she tried not to scream. “It should _not_ be so motherfucking easy.”

“Hawke?” Anders sat back down next to her, voice laced with worry that she still wasn’t sure how to handle. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“I think you did, Blondie,” Varric said lightly, trying as usual to make things seem less intense than they actually were.

“It’s not your fault,” Hawke cut in without looking up. “That was, umm, that was really good, Anders.”

“Thank you,” he replied quickly as he stood back up, and she could’ve sworn that she could even hear that understanding smile it seemed he so often wore. “Would you like to step outside for a moment, where it’ll be a bit quieter?”

Hawke nodded as she held out a hand to Varric, who reluctantly returned her cigarettes to her, which she tossed into her purse as she grabbed it, slowly standing to walk out with Anders.

They made their way over to stand by the small ashtray not far from the tavern’s front door, and Hawke felt the relief wash over her as she lit another, as she felt the cool air from the outside breeze hit her face.

“Those things are bad for you, you know.” Anders’s tone was almost sarcastic, and Hawke caught her lips twitching as though trying to smile.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” she retorted as she leaned against the building, and Anders awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder from directly to the left of her as he did the same.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She looked down and tilted her head to the right, ostensibly to try to keep as much smoke away from him as she could, but it moreso served as an excuse to not make eye contact. They stood in silence for a moment before she decided to make herself speak again.

“I’m sorry, I’m actually really trying here,” she said nervously, and she felt the light grip on her shoulder tighten. “I’ve just been way too quick to set off lately and I...I’m sorry.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” he responded with utmost sincerity. “What was it that set you off in there?”

“That was Bethany’s favourite song.” She felt Anders move a bit closer, but decided to ignore it for the time being. “She listened to that album all the time, and she even used to constantly sing it around the house and just, like I said, it’s been _way_ too easy.”

“If you’d like, feel free to make a list of music to be avoided for next time.”

Hawke forced herself to look up at him, to see that comforting smile, but she was then surprised to see it fall. His brow furrowed slightly, markedly concerned, and she noted how warm his eyes were when he looked at her, much like they had been the first time they met, but it was only then that she saw how very tired they were.

“Next time?” She looked down again to exhale, but she actually looked back up once she’d done so.

“If you’re up for one,” he said with a nod.

“It’ll be a while before Aveline’ll have the time again, you know,” she replied nervously.

“Couldn’t you just come out with Varric? Or, you know, any of the rest of us?”

“It’s a mood thing for him,” she answered honestly, taken aback by the latter part of his question. “And I suppose I just wouldn’t have considered going out with anyone else.”

“I know we’ve only just met, Hawke, but we’re all here for you. I hope you know that.”

“Why? None of you even know me. Like, at all.”

Anders took in a breath as Hawke turned to dig the end of her cigarette into the ashtray beside her. “Because you’ve been through the Void as much as any of the rest of us, and if we don’t look out for each other, then who will?”

Hawke considered the sentiment for a moment, twirling yet another cigarette, still unlit, between her fingers.

“Look, Anders,” she started, turning herself to look him in the eyes as she spoke. “I understand what you’re trying to do and I appreciate it, believe me, but...I just don’t know, okay? I call Varric and Aveline my best friends, but they’re actually my _only_ friends, and for most of my life it was just Aveline. I’ve never been good at being social. I’m honestly just too much for most people to handle. And yeah, I know how _painfully_ melodramatic that sounds, but that’s just the way it’s always gone. Aside from those two assholes in there, people only seem to like me until they actually get to know me. I’ve never had any other real friends, _ever,_ I’ve never had a relationship that wasn’t a one-night stand…”

She trailed off, internally cursing herself for saying as much as she did, and she turned away again as she decided to light the cigarette she’d continued absent-mindedly playing with.

“Hawke.” Anders’s voice was more serious than she’d heard it before, and she tried to push down the wave of anxiety she felt upon hearing it then. “I told you I was only 12 when I was sent to Kinloch, yes? I was very young when my symptoms began to manifest. I vaguely remember my mother arguing that I was just a child, that eventually I’d calm down, but for as much as I loved her and for as much as she tried to help me, she was wrong. I’m not saying that my father was right for how he handled things, not at all, but in retrospect it seems he had a far better idea of what was really happening than she ever could have.”

Hawke allowed herself to slide against the wall until she was sitting on the ground, and Anders moved himself to sit beside her, albeit far more gracefully, as he continued.

“I have phases where I can hardly bring myself to get out of bed, I’m just so sad or numb or...whatever. But then I have periods where I can’t even get into bed at all, where I can hardly stay still for one second, and I certainly can’t sleep, and I’ll often even be convinced I’m invincible. One time I jumped off the roof of our house. I wasn’t hurt too badly, but it was enough to turn some heads. Not too long after that, if I recall correctly, which I honestly may very well not at all, but anyway...I tried to set the garage on fire. I was all over the place and I thought that nothing could hurt me, but I also desperately wanted it to. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes,” Hawke answered bluntly. “Yes, I understand _completely.”_

“So,” Anders continued, apparently unmoved by Hawke’s confession and all it implied, “I guess I just wanted to see what it would be like if I let it all burn around me. I’d set the fire, and just sit down or something, let whatever happened happen, you know? Except that I got caught. I can’t even tell you what I was trying to start it with, but my father found me before I could do any real damage, and that was when he made the call. But there I was, 12 years old and determined to set a small building aflame just to see if it could kill me. So, Hawke, tell me this. Are you still the only epic disaster present?”

Hawke watched Anders as she contemplated all that he had revealed, noting the way he pulled his knees up to his chest, how he then immediately began to tap his fingers against his shins. She was certain he wasn’t even entirely aware of his actions, just as she wasn’t when she leaned her head against his shoulder, deciding to herself that it was too late to undo it when she did realise, and therefore opting against moving it.

“Anders,” she finally spoke up after what must have been a few minutes, once she noticed that his hands had stilled against his legs, choosing not to think about whether or not their current positioning had anything to do with it. “What was it like? Living in a Circle, I mean.”

“It was a nightmare, Hawke. An actual living nightmare that destroyed nearly 20 fucking years of my life.”

“Living nightmare,” she repeated. “I think I know that feeling.”

“I think you do, too,” he sighed as he relaxed his limbs completely, letting his legs stretch out to the edge of the sidewalk.

“How do you wake up?”

Hawke stared at all she could see of him from their angles, more than a little thrown off by how much of themselves they already appeared to see in each other. She noted that they were even dressed similarly, a detail she hadn’t paid much attention to during their previous meetings. They wore nearly identical black jeans, both of which disappeared into Doc Marten boots, only that hers were significantly taller. She unthinkingly let her hand fall onto his thigh, just where the edge of the grey flannel shirt he donned over his sweater, where she herself would normally have her leather jacket if she hadn’t left it inside, ended. She felt Anders’s hard swallow against her head before he spoke up to break the awkward silence between them once again.

“I’m not sure you ever really do.”


	9. What It Means to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to self harm, institutionalisation and related abuse of power, and suicide
> 
> No music is directly featured in this chapter, but I would still recommend checking out the [Velvet Goldmine soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjTxJRjwfi4&list=PLBq-9CkePjPDsm6PnRjjJrz_G5YZ0oRa4), as well as [this scene in particular](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaDdH9Pqwq8) because emotions.
> 
> This one also contains a decent amount of trashfluff but also a lot of angst and exposition. And these characters are either failing to cooperate with me or they're actually cooperating way too well because this story just still seems to have a mind of its own thus far.

“Nothing personal, but I really hope ending up in your clinic after every night at the tavern does _not_ become a regular occurrence,” Hawke said with a laugh, which she immediately followed with a hiss as Anders scraped at the burn by her wrist with antiseptic. “Besides, _I told you,_ it’s not a big deal. For fuck’s sake, I’ve had much wor—ow!”

“I believe you,” Anders shook his head. “But it’s not like this isn’t all _incredibly_ easily accessible to you. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“If you say so…”

“I do,” he replied quickly. “That _is_ what I went to school for, after all. Anyway, who knows what kind of shit got into this sitting on the fucking ground in Lowtown. If I’d have seen it beforehand I might not have made such a big deal when I did.”

“Says the man who operates an entire fucking medical facility in Darktown,” Hawke teased.

“Not ideal, true,” he shrugged as he moved to his cabinet for a bandage. “But you know, cheap buildings are cheap buildings. It’s clean in here, at least, I see to that.”

She held out her wrist for him after he’d acquired what he needed, letting him medicate and wrap her wound. “Do you fuss over everyone in your crew like this?”

“When it’s necessary,” he replied with a nod. “How are you feeling?”

“For the hundredth time, it isn’t a big deal,” Hawke shook her head with an awkward laugh. “It didn’t even hurt until you decided to fuck with it.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Wait,” Hawke paused in deflection. “How old are you?”

“What?” Anders paused for a moment himself, but quickly resumed his simple task of disposing of the few supplies he’d used into the bin marked “biological hazard.”

“How old are you?” Hawke asked again, amused by the way Anders tilted his head to the side, the way his eyes shifted. “I mean, I guess you don’t have to tell me, but you said Kinloch took up nearly 20 years, did you not?”

“Ah,” Anders laughed a little as he flopped into a chair across from the one in which Hawke sat. “I guess I did. Welp. Anyway, I’m 36. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look good,” Hawke smiled, unable to decide whether or not she felt that she should have said that.

“I moisturise,” he replied with a smirk.

“Okay, but,” Hawke spoke up again, grateful that neither Varric nor Aveline were there to witness the conversation this time around. “If you were stuck in a Circle for almost 20 years, and you were 12 when you went in, wouldn’t that still make you a bit young to be a doctor?”

Anders sighed and slumped backwards in his chair. Hawke couldn’t tell if he was flattered or annoyed by her curiosity, or maybe even both, but he seemed increasingly willing to talk in any case.

“The last time I got out, when I finally made it for good and Elissa found me in Amaranthine, I was 30, and I wasn’t at the Keep very long before I started school. Now, they let us take actual university classes from Kinloch, under the guise of a ‘rehabilitation program’ or some such bullshit. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that it’s just for the _illusion_ of hope that they might ever _actually_ let you out, that it’s probably a huge joke to the higher-ups. Or maybe there’s some sort of government mandate to have those kinds of programs, Maker only knows. Either way, it functions the same and it’s honestly just fucking cruel.”

“Sounds like it,” Hawke said quietly. Anders just shook his head with a grimace, clearly still perturbed by the thought, but he continued.

“Anyway, Elissa did some digging and found out I had enough credits from those courses to already have pre-med over and done with. Not that they were ever going to tell me that, of course, but she was able to pull some strings to get me the piece of paper I needed, even managed to get my time in Kinloch to count as ‘experience,’ and I got right to studying for my entrance exam. I got in, obviously, although I like to ignore the question of whether or not her name had anything to do with that bit as well, and then I went straight through. I took every available credit each semester, and I didn’t even take a summer off. It kept me occupied, at least. Not a lot of time to think about anything else when you’re powering through like that. After I got my M.D. I was accepted to do residency at a private hospital in the city proper, one of the only few that even exist in all of fucking Thedas, and I was just starting to get everything in order to go whenever Elissa left. And as I said before, I just couldn’t stand to be there anymore without her to... _protect me_ sounds a little over the top, but I guess that’s really what it comes down to. So I left, abandoned everything, set up shop here. That was around two years ago now? Yeah. So here we are.”

Hawke leaned forward as he finished his story, raising her eyebrows. “Okay, but wait. I’d always thought you couldn’t practice until you did a residency.”

Anders just put a finger to his lips with a “shh,” and Hawke couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, do you _not_ know what Aveline does for a living?”

“Oh, I do,” he laughed with her as he straightened up. “I was incredibly anxious around her at first, honestly, but it turns out I’m really glad she’s part of all this. I have no doubt that she’d do whatever she could to keep any suspicion away from here if she ever needed to.”

Hawke just nodded her agreement.

“Fuck,” Anders said suddenly. “Aveline. I didn’t tell anyone we were leaving. Did you?”

“Oh shit, I thought you did.”

“Oops,” Anders chuckled with a shrug. “I’ll text her now, just so they know, and I can take you home whenever you’re ready.”

Hawke watched him as he pulled his phone from his pocket and rapidly typed away at it to inform their friends of their current whereabouts, and then he set his phone down on his thigh upon finishing and rested his arms casually over those of his chair.

“So, umm,” Hawke began, realising more and more just how uncomfortable she seemed to find silences between them, “do you own the whole building?”

The space that housed Anders’s clinic was actually three storeys, which she hadn’t noticed during her previous visits, and she decided that it made as good a subject for small talk as any.

“Yes, I do,” he answered, apparently unfazed by her obvious need to keep talking. “I had some startup money when I got here, yet another benefit of my friendship with the ever-charitable Commander Cousland. It was supposed to get me by on rent in Amaranthine for a while, but it worked out for this all the same, I suppose. The second floor’s mostly storage, and I kind of just keep it that way so I can feel like there’s a buffer floor between the clinic and the cat.”

“The cat?” Hawke asked as Anders picked up his vibrating phone.

“Umm, Hawke,” he laughed as he read what she assumed to be Aveline’s response, “do you have any idea what to make of this?”

Anders handed his phone over to her so she could read it herself, and the message was indeed a complete mess.

_fucj yhea blonsdie brering it hpme!!!!!_

“Oh, fuck me,” Hawke groaned with a shake of her head, reaching forward to give it back. “I, uh, strongly suspect that Aveline’s phone has been compromised. You might just want to sit on that one for a minute.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled, and if he had any thoughts as to what the message actually implied, he didn’t show it. “Anyway, yes, I live on the third floor, with my cat...oh, there it is.”

He picked up his phone again, and Hawke gathered by his face that Aveline had regained control of hers, which was confirmed when he read the message aloud. “Okay, that’s good, we were starting to wonder what was taking you two so long. Glad everything’s okay. Tell Hawke to keep me posted. Sorry about that last message, Varric is an idiot.”

“Sounds about right,” they said at the same time, causing both of them to laugh far harder than was probably reasonable.

“Well, good to know at least one of us is allowed to get shitfaced tonight,” Hawke mumbled after their mutual amusement had died down.

“Would you like to come upstairs? _I’m_ not going to let you get shitfaced either, but I do have wine and I actually probably should check on the baby.”

“Are we still talking about a cat, or…?”

“Shut up. Come on.”

He led her through the halls of his clinic, all the way to the very back room where their meetings were held, and pulled out his keys to unlock a small door Hawke would most likely have assumed to be a closet if she’d noticed it at all. It opened to a narrow stairwell, and he gestured for her to follow him up, allowing the door to lock itself behind them, until they reached the minimal third floor landing.

She hung back as he unlocked that door and then followed him through, this time directly into his apartment’s main room, where they were immediately greeted by the intense jingling of a tiny bell as the small cat to which it belonged ran straight for the door. Anders managed to close it just in time, quick reflexes indicating that this was a common occurrence, and immediately reached down to pick up the little orange puffball with pure delight on his face.

“Yes, hello! Hello! Did you miss me, Pounce? Did you? I know, I missed you, too…”

Hawke had to cover her mouth with both hands to try to contain her laughter, worried that even her eyes might reveal how strangely happy she felt seeing the display, as Anders held his cat with one arm and raised his other hand to poke at his belly, watching the way he held up his paws to try to catch his finger each time.

“Hawke, this is Pounce,” Anders announced after a moment, making no attempt at composing himself. “Pounce, this is Hawke.”

“Oh, how precious!” Hawke pretended neither of them had heard how high her voice had come out as she spoke. “Pounce, is it?”

Anders reached back down to return the cat to the floor, but he stayed close by as Anders walked Hawke into the kitchen. “His full name is Ser Pounce-a-Lot II, but it saves a lot of time to just call him Pounce, yeah.”

“Your cat in Amaranthine? Was that Ser Pounce-a-Lot I, then?”

“Well,” Anders laughed as he pulled a bottle of moscato off of the small wine rack, “evidently someone’s been paying attention.”

He procured two wine glasses from one of the small cupboards and ushered Hawke back into the main room, setting the items down on the coffee table in front of the oversize couch.

“Have a seat, feel free to make yourself comfortable,” he told her as he unzipped his boots and kicked them off, so she sat down beside him and did the same.

“Did you always want to be a doctor, then?” She asked as Anders opened the bottle and moved to pour their glasses.

“I think I was probably about 14 or 15 when I decided that if I ever _could_ do anything, that’s what I’d do.” He paused a moment to hand over her drink. “I guess I just figured with how terrible my own experiences with doctors had been, I would’ve loved the chance to be a good one, to be able to actually help people the way I’d never been helped.”

“That is truly admirable, Anders,” Hawke said sincerely, quietly, as she extended her glass towards his and clinked them together before they both downed their entire contents in one go.

“Okay, no more of that,” he laughed as he immediately refilled them.

“Feeling it already, are we?” Hawke teased in response. “Maker, you really _are_ old.”

“Shut up,” Anders shook his head, still laughing. _“You’re_ the one I’m worried about, unless you’ve already forgotten how we first met.”

“Fine, fine,” Hawke said with pure snark in her voice. “It still did hit you at least a little bit, though, didn’t it?”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, I _am_ getting old,” he sighed, almost seriously, but Hawke noted that he was still grinning, and widely at that, not even just his usual soft smile.

“So, do you regularly invite your crew members upstairs to share your alcoh—oh!” Hawke nearly giggled when Pounce unexpectedly jumped into her lap. “And your cat, apparently?”

“Maker, no,” Anders practically giggled himself, watching the way Pounce stretched with a tiny meow and then curled himself into a ball. “Fenris would never go for it, at least. He’s a veritable connoisseur of pretentious dry reds where, as you can see, I’m a sweet whites kind of guy, and the cheaper the better. Fuck, the shit I buy doesn’t even usually come with corks.”

“Why me, then?” She moved her free hand to give Pounce a few scratches behind his ears, undeniably pleased when she heard his contented purrs.

“Why not?”

He again refilled his glass upon finishing his second round, and Hawke could see that he did already have a buzz going, albeit a very slight one, whether he would admit to it or not. She handed him her glass again to have him top it off, once more wracking her brain for further conversational topics.

“So why’d you come to Kirkwall?” Hawke regretted the question as soon as she asked it, hating herself for her obvious attempt at taking advantage of Anders’s more than likely lowered guard.

“You first,” he answered, intentionally reversing their roles from when she’d first opened up to him just the night before, having reverted back to the comforting smile she’d already grown accustomed to.

“Never mind, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready…”

“Listen, Hawke,” he said seriously, “I have already told you far more about myself tonight than I have shared with anyone since, well, since my answer to your question. It’s okay. Don’t ask me why because I honestly don’t know, but I promise that it is, so just humour me. You first.”

“If you’re sure,” she said nervously and he nodded, setting down his glass as if to reassure her, even taking hers as she attempted to follow suit but found herself blocked by the cat who seemed to have fallen asleep in her lap. “I appear to be trapped.”

“Indeed,” Anders chuckled. “Well, go on.”

“It’s nothing terribly interesting, to be honest,” Hawke shrugged as she leaned back into the absurdly cushiony couch as far as she could while trying not to disturb Pounce. “I’m sure you already know that I’m from Lothering, and that I left with my family when the town was evacuated after the chemical weapons attack. We came here because it’s where my parents are from and my mother became instantly determined to move back into her childhood home. That, and she assumed her brother would be accommodating to us when we got here. He wasn’t really, in fact he’s kind of a dick, but that’s all there is to it. Your turn.”

Anders picked up his glass again and finished what was left of it before leaning into the couch himself, and Hawke could feel that he was tapping his fingers against his thigh as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Anders, it’s fine, you really do—”

“His name was Karl,” Anders blurted out anxiously, and Hawke could feel the guilt in her chest, but relaxed a bit as she could see a strange look of relief washing over his face having said it. “His name was Karl. We were roomed together for a long time at Kinloch, but he’d been transferred here, to the Gallows, about five years before I got out. So when I left Ferelden, where I would go wasn’t really ever in question. We’d begun writing while I was in Amaranthine, apparently that’s the one liberty they actually give there, and I had every intention of coming in guns blazing—metaphorically speaking, at least—and breaking him the fuck out of that place. I never really worked out _how_ exactly I was going to achieve this, of course, but it was too late by the time I got here, anyway.”

“What happened?” Hawke moved her hand over Anders’s beside her, and his fingers stopped moving when she did, and both of them seemed to make the conscious decision not to acknowledge it.

“I only even found out because I panicked after about a month that I hadn’t gotten a single letter from him since moving, and a friend of Lirene’s was actually able to hack into his medical records. It turns out they had him scheduled for a fucking lobotomy, Hawke. They don’t even really do those anymore and I don’t see how it could _possibly_ have been legal to do it to him, but...he didn’t give them the chance. One final act of defiance. He always was really good at that, I guess that's why they wanted to...but Maker knows he probably genuinely thought it was a brilliant move on his part. That was just his nature. That’s what I’d always loved about him.”

“Oh,” Hawke whispered. “Oh Maker, Anders, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve never actually told anyone all that before, not really. I haven’t spoken of it all since I found out what happened to him, and even then…” Anders’s hand tensed from beneath Hawke’s, but neither moved. “I hadn’t told anyone anything about what my relationship with Karl truly was since we got caught and…”

“That’s why they sent him away?”

“That’s why they sent him away.”

Anders’s eyes watered and, as though right on cue, Pounce perked up his head and stretched himself off of Hawke’s lap to settle into Anders’s.

“It’s not your fault,” Hawke spoke up after a moment’s silence. “Anders, I know that face and I’m telling you, it’s not your fault.”

“Thanks.”

Yet another silence passed, albeit more tense than awkward, and Hawke felt Anders finally move his hand, surprised when she realised he was then holding hers.

“Anders?” She turned her head to properly look at him.

“You know, you never did answer my question downstairs,” he said as he looked back at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m just...feeling. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Anders…”

“Have you ever seen Velvet Goldmine, Hawke?” It had become his turn for a grand gesture of deflection, and she knew she had no right to comment on it.

“It’s actually one of my favourites, yeah,” she answered with her best try at a genuine smile.

“Me, too,” he told her with his own fragile attempt. “I’ve already got it in if you’d be up for watching—”

_“Absolutely.”_

He carefully reached for the remotes on the coffee table, somehow avoiding moving Pounce and still not letting go of her hand, leaning back again once the movie started.


	10. Failure to Fold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: heavily implied PTSD/night terrors/past abuse and one brief, vague reference to Karl
> 
> ["O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXFSK0ogeg4)   
>  ["Arienette" by Bright Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcB1IRr5wpI)   
>  ["I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDHY1D0tKRA)

“Maker fucking save me…”

Hawke felt herself shift a little as something twitched beneath her, groggy enough that she almost didn’t notice at first, but she slowly began trying to open her eyes.

“Please…”

She succeeded as what felt like an arm tightened its hold around her, and she could feel the slight shake to it, eyes widening as she fought through her sleepy haze for awareness of her surroundings.

Hawke realised through her fog that she and Anders must have fallen asleep at some point during the movie, as she found herself draped over him, her head resting on the same arm of the couch that his position had him awkwardly leaning into, her arms haphazardly strewn across his lap. She looked around as best she could and sensed that he had one arm falling right behind her head, saw the other holding firmly around her waist, and she could feel the uncomfortably tangled mess both of her legs had ended up in with one of his. 

“No…”

It was only then, as she felt him begin to writhe, that it dawned on her that it was Anders’s voice, Anders’s distressed pleas accompanying each increasingly harsher movement.

“Anders,” she spoke up, voice hoarse as she held back a yawn. She cleared her throat and said his name again, trying her best to think of how many times Aveline or Varric had been there for her when she was on the receiving end of such a situation, trying her best to think of what their approaches usually were.

“Maker, please…”

All she could picture was simply being shaken to the sound of her own name, she couldn’t imagine there was any special technique to it. She heard her shoulder crack as she stretched her arm out and warily moved to squeeze his thigh, trying to figure out if there might be a line between just waking him and full-on startling him.

“Just fucking kill me…”

She felt her chest tighten at those words and in that second decided that anything was better than leaving him like this.

 _“Anders!”_ She forced herself to shout his name with a hard shake and he jerked upright, nearly pushing her off of the couch, the stiffness in her one leg that had hooked painfully around his and his vice-like hold on her the only things that kept her from rolling onto the coffee table.

“Fuck…Hawke…Maker, I’m sorry, I…” Anders’s words didn’t lose any inflection of panic, and she could feel how hard he was breathing, even as he desperately tried to compose himself.

“Hey, hey,” she spoke softly, working herself to turn as painlessly as possible until she managed to move just enough to bring her arms around him, pulling him forward just enough to get a grip on him. “It’s okay, Anders. It’s okay. You’re in your apartment…above your clinic…there’s a cat around here somewhere…and you’re safe. You’re at home, in your own space, and you are safe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re safe, Anders…you’re safe, and I’m here.”

“Safe,” he repeated, steadying his breathing. “Safe.”

“Safe,” she said again, and she felt his arm slacken over her. “Do you need me to move?”

“Yes, please.” There was a tinge of guilt to his answer, just a hint to his tone that she knew all too well, and her hip popped when she shifted to take back her legs, and she slowly released her arms and propped them against the arm where her head had just been, using it as leverage to push herself to sit up as seamlessly as she was able.

“Is there anything I can do? Can I get you anything?”

Anders only shook his head, so she didn’t move except to place her feet back on the floor, then stretching her legs as well as she could beneath the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“My, how the tables have turned,” Hawke smiled, hoping she might lighten the tension, but Anders’s response was just propping his elbow onto the arm of the couch and hanging his head against his fist. “Fuck, sorry, I thought…”

“I know, Hawke. It’s okay,” he answered tersely, and she tried to push down her own panic at the sound of it, trying to keep in mind that she knew logically it wasn’t actually a reflection on her. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Not about me right now.”

That earned her a quiet, nasal laugh, and after a moment he looked up again and leaned back.

“You know,” he breathed out, making an obvious effort to calm his voice, “you’re quite good at this.”

“I have a lot of experience,” she said, hoping she was pulling off her attempt to mimic his smile. “I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve woken up to sleep-talking…or crying…occasionally screaming…you know. The _main_ difference is just that I usually sleep alone.”

She laughed a little as she spoke, making fun of herself every bit as much as hoping to get through to him, which slowly but surely seemed to be working.

“Hawke…” Anders shifted to the side, pressing his shoulder into the back of the couch, seemingly to move as little as possible while still turning to comfortably make eye contact. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She turned her whole body towards him, pulling up her knees and resting her arms over them. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you _have.”_

They sat in silence for a minute or so, but the silence was comfortable, easy, understanding.

Safe.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” She extended a hand towards him, and he hesitated for a moment before he took it.

“This time, Hawke, I am.” He closed his eyes and for a split second gripped her hand, opening them again to look at her. “Maybe at some point I’ll be able to, but I’m sorry, I just…at least right now, I just _can’t.”_

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Anders,” she nodded. “But are you sure I can’t do anything?”

“Oh shit, I bet Aveline must be worried sick about you.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Hawke…”

“I’ll text her, it’s fine. And if there’s nothing I can do then there’s nothing I can do but _please,_ Anders, if there is…”

She realised how much she hated the idea of leaving him by himself. She was sure that at some point he was going to need to head downstairs, to get to work, and she suspected that would probably be the best thing for him. She also had no idea what time it even was or what time he opened, so she knew there was a chance it would all be out of her hands anyway. Yet she couldn’t help how powerless she felt, how badly she wished she could take this from him, how badly she wished she could make this go away. For a split second she wondered if this was how Varric and Aveline always felt, assuming it must have been, but she forced that thought away to keep her attention on Anders, who had released her hand and was slowly pushing himself off of the couch.

Once he had risen to standing, he made a quick glance at his wrist and looked back at Hawke.

“I’ve still got a little over an hour before I need to open the clinic. Would you like to grab coffee first?”

She pushed herself to stand as well, the sound of her back cracking as she rose loud enough that Pounce popped out from under the couch and ran for another room.

“Skittish little thing, isn’t he?” Hawke laughed softly.

“Cats have a tendency to pick up their humans’ personalities,” Anders smiled back at her. “Sometimes I worry I’ve broken the poor bastard.”

“So, where’s good around here, then?” She reached for her boots as he did the same, and she spotted where she’d tossed her bag by the table. She briefly looked for her jacket before remembering she hadn’t taken it with her, which Anders must have done himself as he grabbed a hoodie from the coat hooks on the door and threw it at her.

“You can come by later to return it,” he said with a smirk.

She couldn’t tell if he was deliberately flirting or if he was just feigning his best casual demeanor, just deflecting, or perhaps even both, but she knew that it wasn’t the right time to think too hard about it.

“Anyway,” he continued as he checked his pockets to make sure he had everything he needed, “I wouldn’t say there’s anywhere _good,_ but there _is_ close by, and I think we’re just going to have to make do with that for now, if you’re still up to joining.”

“Of course.”

***

_“O fortuna, velut luna, statu variabilis…”_

Anders reached for his phone to stop the music coming from it, the sound of it loud and sudden, enough so that the few others present in the small coffee shop had all stopped to look at them.

“Sorry, that’d be my alarm…”

They took their coffees from the man behind the counter, who appeared to be doing his best impression of an angry lumberjack, and moved themselves to a small table in a back corner of the shoddy little building, aiming to be as far away from everyone else as possible despite how scarce it was.

“That means I have an hour from right now, then,” he told her as they sat, to which she just nodded.

_“So take my hand, this barren land is alive tonight…”_

“Maker’s balls, I haven’t heard this song in…” Hawke couldn’t help her amusement when she noticed what the café had playing, laughing as she trailed off.

_“The corn has grown stalks that form a wall too high, but the wind carries sounds that I can’t see from beyond that line…”_

Anders just laughed along with her, and each time he did so it became more and more convincing.

_“And then the stalks begin to sway; oh stay with me, Arienette, until the wolves are away…”_

“I actually kind of like this place, to be honest,” he said as he picked up his cup. “I mean, aside from the fact that it’s right around the corner, I strangely enjoy having a shitty, pretentious hipster coffee dive so close by.”

“Now that you mention it, there is certainly something about the way your standard hipster looks down on everyone that makes me feel oddly better about myself. Must be spite.” She took a sip of coffee, disappointed but not at all surprised by its lukewarm temperature. “And of course, you definitely can’t argue with all this angst.”

Anders playfully shook his head as he hastily downed his coffee, presumably not wanting to wait for it to get any colder.

_“And the desperate are water, they'll run down forever as they soak into silence and end up together in a dark and distant, dark and distant place…”_

“Fitting, indeed,” Anders said, almost in a whisper, and Hawke genuinely wasn’t sure if she had been meant to hear it or not.

She nearly opened her mouth to reply, briefly entertaining the idea of what she would even say in response, but Anders got up to grab another drink before she could manage.

_“And the moon it leaves silver but never sleep, and then the silver turns to grey; oh stay with me, Arienette, until the wolves are away.”_

Hawke finished her own coffee and then pulled out her phone while she debated whether or not she intended to get another. She opted instead to finally text Aveline to tell her she was okay and she’d be back in a little while, and she found herself hoping for once that Varric wouldn’t still be there when she returned.

_“Love of mine, someday you will die…”_

“Too mainstream,” Hawke heard Anders laugh at the song changing as he sat back down, but when she looked back up she could see how blatantly uncomfortable he was, the way he practically cringed.

“Coffee that bad?”

“No, I, umm…” He took another drink. “I just fucking hate this song.”

“I could use a cigarette,” she suggested without hesitation, more for his sake than her own. “Care to join me outside?”

“Sure,” he nodded appreciatively, and by his face she knew he knew she’d understood his meaning, and he seemed grateful for it.

He swallowed down the second coffee as quickly as he had his first as they walked for the door, and he tossed his cup in the bin beside it as she opened it and ushered him ahead.

Without thinking they immediately turned the corner towards the direction of the clinic, which was close enough they could see it from where they stood, and Hawke had nearly already forgotten their reason for leaving to begin with before Anders stopped to sit at a decrepit bench right at the side of the building that housed the coffee shop. She promptly sat down to the right of him and pulled what she needed from her purse.

“Maker, I hope _this_ mess doesn’t mark the beginning of Darktown gentrification,” she chuckled as she lit her cigarette. “Although I don’t suppose they’re hiring?”

“I can’t imagine you’d get in even if they were,” he smiled back at her. “I’m pretty sure not having a soul is a prerequisite for working there.”

“Not like that rules me out,” she laughed as she took a drag from her cigarette, and when she looked back up after exhaling she saw that he’d turned towards her, just smirking as he rolled his eyes when she turned to meet them.

“I’m not so sure about that.” The smirk turned into a wider smile, and she noted how she actually believed it, a first for the day. “If you’re looking for a job, just talk to Lirene. Tell her I sent you.”

“Thanks, Anders.”

She turned away again to continue smoking, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while she finished. She thought again how the silences had gone from increasing in awkwardness to becoming more and more comfortable, and how quickly the transition had occurred, adding everything that had already transpired between them in the short time they’d known each other to the ever-growing “I told you so” list she expected would be soon coming from at least Varric, if not Aveline as well.

She stood up once she was done and flicked the remains into the sewer grate on the street just in front of them, and they both moved to continue back towards the clinic.

“Will you need a ride home, Hawke?” Anders asked her as they approached the front of his building.

“I figured I’d just take a bus,” she shrugged. “I’ve already put you out enough.”

“Not at all,” he said with a small scowl, but his expression changed almost immediately. “Come on, my car’s just down the block.”

Along the small line of cars parked on the street was a tiny red coupe that looked absolutely ancient, as though it might fall apart at any given moment, and she almost laughed at her complete lack of surprise that it was the one he got into, but she remained quiet as she settled herself into the passenger’s seat.

It wasn’t a long ride to Aveline’s, and the time was spent mostly in silence, save for an occasional yawn, but when Anders pulled up to drop her off, she couldn’t bring herself to move before asking the obvious question.

“Are you going to be okay?” She looked directly at him, unflinching, meeting his eyes.

“I should be,” he responded as his own eyes wavered slightly. “I _know_ I shouldn’t wish for people to need it, but hopefully things will be busy in the clinic today…”

“Maybe I’ll stop by later,” she smiled, and he just nodded silently.

“Thanks for the ride, Anders,” she added quickly as she reached for the latch to let herself out.

“You’re welcome, Hawke,” he said sincerely, topping it off with an odd smirk, and she paused upon opening the door.

“Call me Trista.”

With that she exited the car and hastily shut the door behind her, before either of them could question it, and she pulled his hood up over her head as she made her way inside.


	11. Don't Look Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There honestly aren't really any warnings for this chapter. There is one brief mention of Bethany, but it doesn't even actually reference anything. For the most part, though, this chapter is pretty much trashfluff.
> 
> ["The Perfect Drug" by Nine Inch Nails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSLqeZzTU8I)   
>  ["Shake the Disease" by Depeche Mode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_0sL_SQYvw)   
>  ["Inside a Boy" by My Brightest Diamond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aB-FLxglSOA)   
>  ["Melt!" by Siouxsie and the Banshees](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXgQ3TJJZVQ)   
>  [() by Sigur Ros](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXtmIQ9hmKc)   
>  ["Legs" by PJ Harvey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkzCnKy61iA)   
>  ["Plainsong" by the Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkJwpYrcAko)

“I’m not giving you anything until we hear it from her own mouth, Red.”

“Fine by me. I just hope you have the cash on hand.”

Hawke braced herself for her entrance, as she could already hear Varric and Aveline going from outside the apartment door. She slowly pulled out the key Aveline had given her ages ago, taking a deep breath as she inserted it into the lock and turned it to let herself in.

“Well, well, well,” Varric laughed as she walked towards them, in what seemed to have become their usual positions on the one chair and the couch.

“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no,” Hawke stated without hesitation as she sat herself in the other chair, at which Varric looked over towards Aveline with his tongue out and she just rolled her eyes.

“Alright, Hawke,” Aveline smiled as she leaned forward in her seat. “So what _did_ happen, then?”

Hawke absent-mindedly dropped her purse beside her with a shrug, but she did not remove the upturned hood from Anders’s sweatshirt. “He saw the burn mark from my little mishap with the cigarette and kicked into doctor mode. No big deal.”

“Not that it’s at all in my best interest for Red to be right on this one,” Varric chimed in with a grin, “but that doesn’t actually explain why we’re only just seeing you now.”

“I got distracted by his cat,” Hawke offered. It had sounded much better in her head, much more innocent, even vague. As soon as the words exited her mouth, however, she couldn’t help her internal cringe at how damning even that line that was still mostly a lie had been, and she could only hope she had any sort of poker face about it.

Judging by the looks she got from Aveline and Varric both, though, she felt it a safe assumption that she didn’t.

“You met his cat? So he took you home, then?” Aveline seemed positively scandalised by Hawke’s poor attempt at side-stepping a confession.

“I still didn’t sleep with him, so it looks like you’re the one who owes Varric, sorry,” Hawke grinned, trying to reign in the conversation, make it something she felt she could control, and Varric just laughed. “So close, and yet so far…”

She trailed off with a smirk, knowing she hadn’t actually made any difference in where the conversation was heading, but she was at least able to convince herself she’d brought it around to being laughed with rather than at.

“Well,” Varric finally spoke up after a moment of making faces at Aveline, “are you going to enlighten us about what _did_ happen?”

Hawke gave another shrug, trying to make a point to choose her words more carefully, opting for guarded honesty over another try at completely skirting the details. “He cleaned up my wrist, we talked for a bit, he took me up to see his cat, and we just happened to fall asleep watching a movie. Is that so wrong?”

“What’d you kids talk about?” Varric chuckled.

“Small talk,” she lied quickly.

“Wait,” Aveline laughed, “back to the part about the movie…so did you or did you not sleep with him?”

“You’re killing me here, you guys, you know that,” Hawke only sighed. “If you want to make it an issue of semantics then yes, I _did_ sleep with him, sure, but I didn’t fuck him so Varric _still_ wins this round.”

“Did you hear that, Varric?” Aveline smiled at him. “You win _this round._ I guess we’ll just have to play again, won’t we?”

“I’m starting to think that maybe I shouldn’t take you up on that, after all,” Varric laughed.

Hawke shook her head, figuring such a response was probably the best she could have hoped for, chuckling softly as she told them, “I fucking hate you guys sometimes.”

Neither of them responded but she felt both sets of eyes pinning her in place, and she instinctively moved to pull on the hood she still hadn’t taken down, instead tugging on it to cover as much of her face as she could make it.

“That his?” Aveline’s smirk was downright obnoxious, but Hawke suspected she had no idea what kind of face she was even making. She knew exactly why this conversation was happening, she knew it came from a good place, but she still couldn’t help but get defensive, still couldn’t help but just want it to end as soon as possible, despite how much she kept inadvertently digging herself deeper into it.

“I forgot mine,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could. At least that time she really was just being honest.

There was a moment’s silence between the three of them, Hawke still desperate to find a way out as her friends looked on inquisitively, contemplating any excuse she could think of to go and hide in her room, and then Varric once more opened his mouth to speak.

“What are you so afraid of, Hawke?”

The question was genuine, delivered with complete sincerity, and Hawke couldn’t place why it made her feel so small.

She feigned her best yawn and stood up, deciding she no longer cared enough to worry about how obvious her escape was.

“I’m going back to bed for a bit. We just ended up crashing out on the couch and it wasn’t particularly comfortable, so…you know,” she said anyway, not sure who she felt she needed to convince. “I’m planning to go job hunting later so I should probably be presentable, therefore well-rested, therefore…”

She didn’t even bother to find an end to the sentence as she walked away, and neither Aveline nor Varric attempted to follow or question her. She knew it was simply because they already had all the information they needed to come to their own, probably accurate, conclusions, but it somehow still made her feel better about the whole thing.

She flopped down hard on the bed, only then realising how tired she actually was, and reached towards the floor for her travel bag, pulling out a pair of earbuds and plugging them into her phone before popping them in. She knew her friends were going to continue talking about her, and she knew she actually had no real right to say a word about it considering how remarkably similar it was to the way Hawke and Varric had talked to and about Aveline after she’d first started spending time with Donnic, but that didn’t make her want to hear it any more, so she opted to continue her quest to hide by blocking out the sound.

She barely disturbed Anders’s hood as she laid down flat on her back with her headphones in, holding up her phone to pull up her music, pressing the shuffle option.

_“I got my head but my head is unravelling, can’t keep control, can’t keep track of where it’s travelling. I got my heart but my heart is no good, and you’re the only one that’s understood…”_

“Nope,” she whispered to herself as she selected the arrow to skip to the next song.

_“I’m not going down on my knees begging you to adore me, can’t you see it’s misery and torture for me…”_

She shook her head to herself with a short nasal laugh and hit the arrow again.

_“Inside a boy, I found a universe…”_

She almost laughed out loud as she touched the arrow again, unsure if there was some sort of strange joke going on or if she just hadn’t noticed before how many songs really were all about the same thing. She knew logically it had to be the latter, but she couldn’t help her suspicion towards the former as well.

_“You are the melting man, you are the situation; there is no time to breathe and yet one single breath leads to an insatiable desire…”_

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she said to said to herself, to her phone, to all of it, but when she went to skip that song as well, the next one that came up was the first track from her favourite Sigur Ros album, so she deselected the shuffle option and just let it play.

It had been a favourite of Bethany’s, too, and she couldn’t help the pang in her chest as she listened, but she somehow managed to keep it going, even as she turned herself over to bury her face in the pillow, not wishing for her friends to hear her cry, at least not that time. She didn’t know if it was because it had already been such an emotional day, or if it was the time away from her biological family, but suddenly she wasn’t as afraid to feel as she had been in a very long time, possibly ever.

So she just let it happen, feeling almost as though a weight was being lifted as she quietly cried herself to sleep.

***

_Hey, it’s me. I have officially been granted the elite title of Sales Associate at the prestigious Lirene’s Fereldan Imports. Huzzah for me! But in all seriousness, thanks for the reference. I really appreciate the help._

She read over the text twice as she stood outside the shop she’d soon be seeing a lot more of, realising it was actually her first time making use of Anders’s number, before hitting send and then shoving her phone into a pocket, making the short trek to the nearest bus stop. She’d initially planned on going straight home, but when she saw the bus to Hightown approach she instead stepped back and pulled out her cigarettes, when she had initially been reaching for coin for the fare. She still had Anders’s hoodie on, though, this time under her own jacket, and she told herself it was because she didn’t need both so she might as well make the extra stop to return it to him. She had already mentioned visiting him later that day, after all, and she couldn’t deny herself the fact that she was still eager to check on him considering how the morning had begun.

She thought to dig out money for the bus all the same, stuffing it into a pocket and then reaching back into her bag for her lighter, grateful she’d only just made contact with it when the Darktown bus arrived. She felt a strange sense of conviction as she boarded, inserting her fare into the coin slot at the front and tossing her cigarettes back into her purse as she sat down.

_“Oh, you’re divine…”_

She laughed quietly to herself when the song began playing through her earbuds as the bus started moving, even knowing she would more than likely have cringed had it come up earlier.

_“Oh, oh, oh, did I tell you you’re divine?”_

She glanced at her phone to see if she’d received a response, and put it back away as soon as she saw she hadn’t, not even contemplating changing the music.

_“Did it hurt when you bled? Did it, oh lover boy, oh fever head? I’ll bet you never thought I’d try. Your mouth, my love, was open wide…”_

She told herself that at least it wasn’t really a love song, that she didn’t actually have anything to think about. She briefly pondered Varric’s earlier question, but quickly shoved it into the back of her mind. It was only a matter of several minutes before she reached Darktown, and she just got off as soon as she recognised her surroundings.

_“‘I think it’s dark and it looks like rain,’ you said, ‘and the wind is blowing like it’s the end of the world,’ you said, ‘and it’s so cold it’s the like the cold if you were dead,’ and then you smiled for a second…”_

She popped into the same sketchy coffee shop they’d visited earlier that day and picked up a couple of bagels from a different angry lumberjack, only even bothering to pop out one earbud, which she didn’t even wait until she’d left to replace.

_“‘I think I’m old and I’m in pain,’ you said, ‘and it’s all running out like it’s the end of the world,’ you said…”_

She thought again about stopping to smoke, but surprised herself when she decided against it. She suddenly felt nervous, Varric’s question coming back to the forefront.

_“Sometimes you make me feel like I’m living at the edge of the world, like I’m living at the edge of the world, ‘it’s just the way I smile,’ you said.”_

She reached the door to the clinic, taking out her headphones and turning off the music, and not for the first time, she took a deep breath as she opened the door.


	12. ...You Looked Down, Didn't You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, panic attack, and I guess the best way to put it would be cherophobia?
> 
> No music this chapter.
> 
> Starts out fluffy but leads back into angst.

“Trista, hey!”

Anders waved as she walked inside the clinic, momentarily popping out from the nearest exam room. She noted how he apparently didn’t need time to adjust to calling her by her first name, and she sat herself down in one of the few chairs not far from the door which must have served as the waiting area.

It was only another minute or two before he came out to properly greet her, taking a seat next to hers.

“Sorry about that, I just had to clean up. I’m actually right about to close, if you wanted to come upstairs.”

“Sounds good to me,” she smiled and held up the brown paper bag she’d acquired from the coffee shop. “I brought snacks.”

“Oh!” Anders’s tone was an odd mix of surprise and disappointment, causing Hawke to second guess herself as she immediately dropped her chin. “Yes, umm, that’s very kind, thank you.”

“It’s nothing special,” she said to the floor. “If you don’t want anything, that’s fine…”

“No, no, _fuck,”_ he promptly caught himself. “Sorry, I just…it’s, uh, been a long day.”

“Upstairs, then?” She looked back up, trying to read him but finding herself at a loss, barely encouraged by his nod as he rose to switch the overhead lights from manual to motion-activated.

Once again she followed him through the clinic and up through the locked doors, once again greeted by the enthusiastic jingling of a very excited cat running towards them, proving her earlier theory, and she promptly pulled off her jacket and his hoodie.

“Thanks,” she said as she tossed the latter at him, and he echoed the sentiment upon putting it back on the hook from which he’d originally taken it.

“So,” he started as he settled himself onto the couch, followed by Pounce curling himself up at Anders’s feet, “what’ve you got?”

“Pretentious hipster-flavoured bagels,” she laughed as she joined him.

“Oh, my _favourite,”_ he chuckled as she handed him one.

He simply looked at it for a moment, and as he held it Hawke could clearly hear the reactionary rumble of his stomach, and she looked him up and down as his previous response immediately clicked in her head.

“Anders,” she turned to make eye contact, concern obvious in her voice. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Like I said,” he answered quickly, averting his eyes just slightly. “Long day.”

“Don’t.” Her tone was stern, unexpectedly so, and even she was a little uncomfortable hearing it. “We are, _apparently,_ far too similar, and I see right through that look because _I_ give it to Varric and Aveline all the time.”

He exhaled audibly before taking a small bite of his bagel. “Fair enough.”

“So, now it’s time for the painfully obvious obligatory question,” Hawke spoke up again once he swallowed. “How are you?”

“It really was a long day,” he shrugged, “but I _did_ need it, so at least it got me out of my own head for a while.”

“That is good,” she replied softly before starting on eating as well.

“How _are_ Varric and Aveline, by the way?” He worked very slowly on his bagel, speaking between terribly small bites, but she was still reassured that he continued chipping away at it.

“You only just saw them yesterday,” she laughed automatically, promptly realising to cover her mouth as she did so.

“Maker’s balls, that really was only last night, wasn’t it?” He shook his head, and she couldn’t help thinking to herself how strange that fact truly was. “All the same, I haven’t really gotten to talk to them much this week, so…”

“They’re fine,” she smiled. “Although, I suppose you should be warned that they seem to have begun placing bets on if and when you and I are ever going to bang.”

Anders actually cackled at that, the volume of it causing Pounce to get up and run, and it took him a good minute to compose himself.

“What?” Hawke could only cock her head, eyes shifting, smirking to herself despite the sudden anxiety the topic washed over her.

“Just,” he shook his head with a genuine giggle, “I don’t even know what to do with those two sometimes.”

“Tell me about it,” she said dramatically, trying to laugh but finding herself unable to make eye contact.

“Hey,” he spoke up again, turning to better look at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be weird. I mean, they win if we make it weird, right?”

“I certainly can’t argue with that logic,” she grinned, and for a moment all they did was look at each other, eyes meeting, Anders’s hand still resting firmly in place.

“Trista, umm,” he abruptly cleared his throat, and Hawke briefly felt like hers was closing as he did so. “Tell me if I’m out of line here, please, but…is it just me or can you see the merit to their bet?”

“It’s not, Anders, it really isn’t, but…” Hawke closed her eyes, felt her forehead scrunch. She knew on some level this conversation was coming, knew on some level it would inevitably happen sooner than later, knew on some level how much she wanted it, even how likely it had been that her friendly warning would lead into it, but as it began all she wanted to do was run.

“I’m sorry, I know, we haven’t even known each other for a fucking week yet and believe me, the _last_ thing I want to do is rush anything, honestly for either of our sakes, but I just…”

“I know, Anders, I…” She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes shut tight. “Me, too, but…”

The hand on her shoulder shook slightly before he pulled it back, and she hastily forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at him again, and without thinking she moved towards him, ignoring the shake in her own hands as she reached for him, pulling him in and before she knew it her lips were locked onto his. The kiss was rough, passionate, exactly what she needed it to be, exactly what she had to admit to herself she’d imagined. She felt his fingers slip into her hair, trying to pull her closer, and for a second she almost lost herself to how good it felt, how right. For a second she almost let herself embrace the looming sense of contentment, the undeniable spark between them as they crashed their bodies together, but just as soon as the feeling started, she pushed away from it, physically pushed herself from him.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself as she aggressively hit the arm of the couch nearest her, and by his face it was clear that he’d heard it. She immediately closed her eyes again, slapping one hand over her mouth as the other dug nails into her thigh as though of its own will. “Fuck.”

“Hey, hey,” he started quickly, his own voice quiet, hesitant, and she tried to pretend she didn’t hear the way it cracked. “It’s okay. Trista, are you…”

She turned to a forward position, slowly pushing herself off of the couch, refusing to look at him. She knew there was no excuse for the panic that had come over her completely, knew that her reaction had to be painful for him, and she could only imagine how he must have felt, could only imagine the way he was looking at her, adamant in how much she did not want to see it for herself.

She felt almost as though none of it was real, that she wasn’t even there, cursing herself for how after everything that had gone down recently, the idea of something positive happening to her was the thing that threatened what was looking to be her worst panic attack in recent memory.

“Anders, I’m sorry,” she muttered quickly, looking away from him as she opened her eyes, moving as fast as she could to grab her things. “I’m sorry, I am, I'm so sorry, I…I have to go. I’m sorry, I just…fuck.”

If he tried to stop her, if he said anything more, if he’d even stood as she bolted out the door, she couldn’t say. She could have sworn she heard his own loud “fuck” exclaimed from behind her as the door slammed shut, but even that wasn’t certain. All she knew was that she was moving, moving as fast as she could to escape the situation, to escape what might have been the best thing that could possibly have happened to her. She bit back the sudden feeling that she wanted to cry, although it didn’t really matter, nothing was coming in any case.

She started into a run as the door to the clinic closed, only partially aware of her surroundings. She had no idea where she was going, only that it was away from where she was, so she just kept moving, thoughts racing, hating herself even more than she had already, even more than she’d even known she could, berating herself as she made her way through Darktown, head spinning, struggling to breathe, trying and failing to pull her focus towards heading wherever she was heading.


	13. Stare into the Abyss, and the Abyss Stares Back into You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: panic, dissociation, derealisation, hypersexuality, rape
> 
> ["Big Empty" by Stone Temple Pilots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqyposaQWnI)
> 
> I'm going to be completely honest and say upfront that this absolutely a self-insert and that this chapter was entirely written for the purpose of catharsis and to try to find myself some brand of closure. The details as written here are almost identical to something that actually happened to me, and I am actively outlining how I'm going to work this in to the rest of the story so it doesn't seem entirely gratuitous or frivolous or what have you, but I honestly, simply, needed this to be written and I just really felt like this fic was the best opportunity I was going to get to do it in a way where I could, well, actually let myself.
> 
> Rating and tags and have been altered accordingly.

She stumbled into a tavern and found her way into a seat at the bar, slamming down her elbows and momentarily revelling in the sting. She wasn’t sure where she even was, only that it wasn’t the Hanged Man, and the thought that there would be little chance of spotting a familiar face was more encouraging than it should have been.

_“Smoke a cigarette and lie some more, these conversations kill…”_

She was only vaguely aware of the sounds of the tavern surrounding her, but she immediately reached for an ashtray upon catching the line, almost subliminally, and after what felt like just a second she inhaled deeply from the cigarette she already didn’t even remember pulling out or lighting.

_“Time to take her home, her dizzy head is conscience laden; time to wait too long, to wait too long, to wait too long…”_

She had no idea what she was doing. She couldn’t wrap her head around the situation at all. She’d gotten scared and she’d run, guilt and regret overwhelming her as soon as she’d done so, and her goal automatically became to forget, or to destroy herself in the process of trying to. She knew it would probably have sounded ridiculous to anyone outside her own mind, especially given how ridiculous it was even to her, but she deemed it too late to do anything about it and simply sank into the feeling as though she had a choice.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Hawke almost shouted as the stranger sat himself beside her, pulling up his barstool, far too close, suffocatingly impeding her personal space. It would actually have bothered her, however, if she hadn’t already been desperately trying to catch her breath, if she hadn’t already felt so overcrowded by her own presence that his apparent need to literally breathe down her neck almost failed to be noteworthy.

_“Too much walking, shoes worn thin; too much trippin’ and my soul’s worn thin…”_

“If I say yes to that, then I’m obligated to sleep with you, am I not?” She sucked in a harsh breath, her comment intended as a bad joke, but she was then unsure of how much she even cared.

“Of course not,” he smiled slyly, and Hawke couldn’t help but wonder how often he made these moves, and how rarely they succeeded. “I see absolutely no reason you shouldn’t go straight home after.”

She actually laughed out loud at his answer, even though she knew he would genuinely think she found it funny, that he had no idea it was only because it made her think of the conversation she’d had with her friends earlier that day, as though trying to anchor her back to a place that made sense while simultaneously pushing her farther away from anything that did.

_“Time to take her home, her dizzy head is conscience laden…”_

She looked at him for a moment, at the way he looked at her, how she could only define his gaze as creepy. She barely had time to ponder how uncomfortable she felt before the sensation of everything slipping away from her, her mind’s refusal to acknowledge that any of this was real came back over.

_“Time to wait too long, to wait too long, to wait too long…”_

“Well?” He prodded at her after what she hoped had only been a moment or so, snapping her back to face him, even if it didn’t change the dream-like state she found herself in. “Long Island? You look like a Long Island kind of girl.”

“Fuck it,” she said aloud, entirely unconcerned with wherever this was going to lead her, even though she knew exactly what he was doing, the specific suggestion rendering his intentions far from subtle. “Sure.”

_“Conversations kill…”_

He nodded towards the bartender, who turned to begin making her drink.

He extended his hand and she nodded as she took it, only then realising her cigarette was gone, spotting the end of it crushed in the ashtray in front of her. She didn’t remember finishing it, didn’t remember putting it out, and she tried to shake off the thought as he smiled at her, and she cringed slightly through her haze.

_“Conversations kill…”_

“Pleasure,” he said awkwardly, pulling on the hand she hadn’t even realised he still held, kissing just above her still-scabbed knuckles.

_“Time to take her home…”_

Her drink was placed in front of her before she knew it, and it was emptied almost as quickly. He once more nodded at the bartender as she set down her glass, and within a minute it reappeared before her, filled to the brim, and she downed the second in nearly an instant as well.

_“Time to take a ride, it leaves today, no conversation…”_

“Would you like to get out of here?” He asked as he set money down on the bar, not taking his eyes off of her. She wasn’t drunk, not really, but finishing her drinks as rapidly as she had, for as strong as the drinks were, left her with a noticeable buzz, and that feeling was swiftly exacerbated by her increasing sense of anxiety, by her utter disbelief in the very world around her, and she found herself light-headed with the combination, not even realising she must have agreed until he stood up and gestured for her to follow.

_“Conversations kill…”_

Before she knew it she was being ushered into what she assumed to be his apartment, with no recollection of how she got there, blindsided when they entered what had to be his room, when he immediately shoved her down onto his bed.

He didn’t even give her time to act of her own accord, pulling off her boots, pulling down her pants and her underwear in one go, lifting over her shirt, all before she even had time to blink, or so it seemed. He tossed the articles carelessly onto the floor before removing his own clothing, and she fixed her gaze to the ceiling as she felt his hands over her thighs, pushing them apart.

She couldn’t help the encouraging noise she made as he bit down on one, taking in the sharp pain as he held on with his teeth, her shudder at the lingering ache when he released it. She closed her eyes as he pinned her down with one hand over that same spot that was inevitably going to leave a significant bruise, allowing herself the sharp intake of breath as he reached the other to brush against her clit.

“Yeah?” It wasn’t really a question, despite his inflection, but she nodded anyway and he pulled that hand back. She had just begun to exhale when he returned it, and she bit back a yelp as three dry fingers were abruptly slammed hard into her all at once, with no warning or preparation.

“Fuck,” she groaned as her eyes opened, and she suddenly felt sickened by the smug look on his face. “Wait…wait…”

“You like that?” He was staring, grinning, and the sight of it unnerved her as she shook her head.

“No, too much, that’s too much…” Hawke felt her eyes welling as he continued, only moving to pull himself up over her further, biting down on her breasts just as aggressively as he had her thigh, his other hand swapping that thigh for her shoulder, but still pounding in his fingers.

“Ah,” she hissed, quickly becoming desperate for him to acknowledge her protests. “Hey, hey…”

She opened her eyes again, but she could only squint through the pain, her brow furrowing. He wasn’t letting up, he wasn’t even looking at her anymore, and with each motion the burn of it hit her harder.

“Please,” she whined. “Fuck, that hurts…”

“Don’t you want it to hurt?” He almost sounded amused, like he was enjoying her reactions, and she thought how she had never felt more trapped.

“Not like—”

“Yeah…” His other hand moved from her shoulder into her hair, forcing her head back, and the position would have been terribly uncomfortable even if he hadn’t been actively hurting her.

She twitched a little as he shifted, and she knew the movement was going to be grossly misinterpreted, pulling all of her focus on trying not to cry. Everything had become real again, she was completely stuck in the moment. She wished she could will herself back to the haze she’d been in back at the tavern, but she knew she had no control over it, that there was no getting out of it then.

“No…”

Time seemed to slow down and her head swam, even as she scrunched her eyes shut again she felt as though everything around her was spinning, but she was still acutely aware of every sensation, every little detail of what has happening. Finally he pulled back his hand, and she couldn’t hold back her gasp when he did, the relief she felt was overwhelming, which only made it worse when he pushed back inside her with his whole fist, and she screamed despite herself.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

At last it seemed she’d gotten his attention, and he paused in place before he finally reclaimed his hand, for just a moment before moving both to pin her back down by her shoulders. She kept her eyes closed as he straddled her, as he lowered himself onto her, as he tightened his grip and pushed himself into her. She hated how heavily she was breathing as he thrust again and again, she knew he had to think she was enjoying herself, and she could only try to tell herself that the worst had to be over, that soon he would finish and then she’d be free to go.

His thrusts became rougher until she finally heard a low moan, and then she felt the literal weight being lifted from her. He rolled away and without hesitation she practically fell over to retrieve all of her hastily tossed about possessions from the floor, and she got dressed as quickly as she possibly could.

“Was it good for you?” He was still smiling, evidently pleased with himself, at his obvious sense of success.

She couldn’t believe herself, that of all the people she could have met, all the people she could have gone home with, that was where she’d ended up. As if the rest of it hadn’t been bad enough. She couldn’t help the thought that she must have deserved this, that for all she’d failed it was only her just punishment.

She tried to force a smile before turning to look for the door, and she couldn’t even be surprised when he followed her to walk her out, even so much as that much continued contact making her feel dirty. She considered asking where in the city they were, or which direction she should heads towards for Hightown, but she couldn’t seem to speak, and she didn’t want to give that much away about herself. She only nodded at him as he shut the door behind her, and all at once she could feel how much liquor she’d previously consumed, fumbling through her purse, deciding it would be far easier just to consult her phone’s GPS.

The first thing she noticed when she finally recovered it from her bag was that it was somehow just after 4:00am. She had a multitude of missed texts from Aveline, as well as several from Varric, and even one or two from Anders, but she didn’t bother to actually look at them. She pulled up the app she was looking for, willing her vision to focus on the screen as best she could, trying her best to keep her swaying to a minimum as she turned herself forward, and she started walking, cringing with each step, hissing with each motion, with how badly it hurt to move at all. Her phone told her she was by the Docks, that it would be roughly a 40 minute walk home. She stumbled in the door at 5:57.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special note to Andrea Gibson and their poem ["Blue Blanket"](https://youtu.be/2cEc3aQOP-o) for how much it helped get me through writing this, as well as to Andrea as the absolutely incredible person that they are. In fact, not too long after initially posting this chapter I actually got to talk to them about this scene after a performance, and that was honestly one of the most beautiful and emotionally raw moments of my life.


	14. Cold Light of Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this one is mostly just aftermath from the previous chapter, which includes anxiety and dissociation, as well as self-blame
> 
>  ["Limp" by Fiona Apple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfTNpbraBbI)  
> ["Days Before You Came" by Placebo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEicdmXxVUY)  
> ["She's in Parties" by Bauhaus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCg4i1f_oDY)
> 
> I am making a point to give Hawke here the full-on support I would have had if I'd allowed it. This chapter is still kind of intense, but...necessary, I guess is the best way to put it.

_“You wanna make me sick, you wanna lick my wounds, don’t you, baby?”_

Hawke had barely slept at all. When she’d gotten in all she could do was take off her pants and replace the shirt she’d worn out with a loosely fitting tank top. She couldn’t even bring herself to put on new bottoms. Everything hurt too much, she could feel the swelling and she was sure she was bleeding, and all she wanted to do, all she could do was lie down. She’d been immensely relieved when Varric didn’t so much as stir when she passed by him on the couch, and when she didn’t hear any movement from Aveline’s room as she made her way into her own.

She didn’t remember walking home. As soon as she’d left everything fell away again. She only even remembered seeing the time as she came in because of how ludicrous she found it. She only looked again whenever she did hear Aveline get up, which was at 9:16am. That had been when she’d decided to put on music, desperate to distract herself. She didn’t even bother with headphones, just turning it down as much as she could. She assumed she must have done a decent enough job, because the next time she saw the time it was 10:24, when Aveline started banging on the door.

_“So call me crazy, hold me down, make me cry, get off now, baby. It won’t be long ‘til you’ll be lying limp in your own hand…”_

She tried to ignore the door, even though she knew what would be going through Aveline’s head after the week they’d had, and she wasn’t even a little bit surprised when, after not even a minute, she took the liberty of letting herself in.

_“Sitting on the sidelines, waving and grinning. You fondle my trigger then you blame my gun…”_

Hawke looked up at Aveline from her position on the bed, curled tightly into her blankets, curled into as much of a ball as she physically could be, unsure of what either of them were going to say. She still hadn’t read any of her messages from the previous night, and she winced at the small shift she made caused by Aveline sitting down next to her on the bed.

_“And when I think of it, my fingers turn to fists…”_

She could feel the tears in her eyes as they just silently stayed in place for a moment, as she played with the idea of speaking first, whether or not she had any intention of being honest about the events of the evening, how to even define what it had entailed.

“What happened last night?” Aveline beat her to it, her voice soft, sincere. There was no judgment, not even a hint of mothering. Just pure, unadulterated worry.

“Aveline, I,” she started, voice cracking, and she instantly broke into sobbing, struggling to choke out her next words. “I fucked up. I really fucked up. Oh Maker, I…”

She cried out in pain as she sat herself up, pulling herself into Aveline’s arms, weeping against her chest, and Aveline only wrapped her arms around Hawke as firmly as she could.

_“Days before you came, freezing cold and empty, towns that change their name and a horn of plenty…”_

“Hawke…” Aveline’s whisper was delicate, almost frightened. “Hawke, what is it?”

_“Won’t you join me now? Baby’s looking torn and frayed. Join the masquerade, join the masquerade…”_

“Oh shit, have you talked to Anders? How is he?” She almost laughed for how much she reminded herself of Bethany just then, how that was exactly the way she’d have responded in such a situation.

“He’s…he’s okay,” Aveline answered, her hesitance resonating in Hawke’s chest. “He’s been worried about you. We all have.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she sniffled, cries beginning to subside even as a steady stream of tears continued. “I’m so sorry, fuck. I fucked up so bad…”

She pulled back, the covers falling from her as she did so, and Aveline’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bruises that had already formed on her breasts, visible from the unintentional stretched-out drape of the shirt she wore.

_“Days before you came it always seemed enticing to be naked and profane, there is no denying…”_

Aveline’s eyes quickly moved up to meet Hawke’s, whose own immediately turned away from the contact, darting around the room, trying to find anything else to look at.

“Please,” Aveline said gently, placing a hand over Hawke’s, the one she’d deliberately rested over the large purple and yellow spot on her thigh. If she noticed the mark at all, however, or even the small reactionary movement Hawke made at the touch, she didn’t draw attention to it. “Hawke. Talk to me.”

“I, uh,” she swallowed, searching for the right words. “I made some mistakes. Some really big mistakes. Umm…what did he tell you? Did he tell you anything?”

_“Baby’s looking torn and frayed…”_

“When it started getting late I texted him to ask if he was with you.” Aveline cleared her throat to speak up through her own growing emotional response to Hawke’s state. “All he told me was that you had been over, but that you’d left a while back, and that he’d like one of us to let him know you’re okay.”

Hawke could only nod, the familiar tight pang in her chest rising.

_“Won’t you join me now? Baby’s looking to get laid. Join the masquerade, join the masquerade…”_

“But you’re not okay, are you?”

_“Days before you came, days before you came, days before you came, days before you…”_

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

There was another knock on the bedroom door, a softer one, and Hawke could only assume it would be Varric coming to check in on her as well, and she just nodded at Aveline, unable to bring herself to beckon him in herself.

“Come in,” Aveline chimed in swiftly, and Hawke nodded at her again in gratitude.

“Hey,” he said as he closed the door behind him, even his tone immediately adjusting to the mood of the room, however much he was going to try to subdue it. “What’s up?”

“I need coffee, that’s what’s up,” Hawke shrugged, her voice hoarse. Aveline and Varric both seemed to agree, however, as they wasted no time in moving to exit the room.

“Put on some pants and meet us on the balcony,” Varric smiled at her before he walked out, and she tried to force a smile back, certain she’d failed completely.

_“Learning lines in the rain, special effects by Loonatik and drinks, the graveyard scene, the golden years; she’s in parties…”_

She fumbled around the floor for her pajama pants, still unwilling to attempt the feeling of a harsher fabric quite yet, struggling even to put on the soft ones she grabbed.

_“Freeze frame, screen kiss, hot heads under silent wings. Fall guys tumble on the cutting room floor, look-a-likes fall on the cutting room floor…”_

She bit back a gasp as she forced herself into a bra. Normally she’d have enjoyed the sensation, the bite of a previous night’s mementos, and the thought of it made her hate the context, hate herself, even more, which was only further exacerbated as she pulled on a sweater.

She sat on the floor for a moment after that, hissing at the feeling of sitting on a hard surface. “Fuck.”

She found her purse even through of the blur of her already sore eyes welling up again from the sting, breathing heavily as she remained in place even after acquiring everything she wanted to join Aveline and Varric.

_“Hot lines under a rain of drum, cigarette props in action. Dialogue dub, now here’s the rub. She’s acting her reaction…”_

With a shake of her head she finally rose, gripping the nightstand for support, shutting down the music app before heading out to awkwardly limp her way to the balcony.

She arrived there to see her two best friends and three cups of coffee, and she carefully took her usual place at the table, barely holding back a whimper as she sat herself on the cold metal chair.

“Okay, Hawke, seriously,” Varric spoke up, trying to keep his tone casual, just as she’d expected. “You’re honestly kind of scaring me.”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes down. “I went home with someone I should have, and I made damn sure someone got hurt. Then I went home with someone I shouldn’t have, and he made damn sure someone got hurt. So I guess it's all fair in the end, really.”

“Hawke,” Aveline’s voice cracked slightly. “The other man, did he…”

She knew the words that were sitting on the tip of Aveline’s tongue, and she knew she knew the answer, but she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around it, couldn’t process the reality, so she said nothing. She felt like she was wading through a current to pick up her coffee, to take a quick sip, to set it back down. She felt like water was filling her lungs in place of the smoke as she lit a cigarette, staring at the table instead of looking at either of her friends.

“You should talk to Anders,” Varric spoke up again. “I know he was worried.”

Hawke shook her head, fighting for words she couldn’t find.

“It’s okay,” Aveline assured her. “You can figure it out Tuesday.”

“No, no,” Hawke whispered. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, and you will,” Aveline interjected.

“He doesn’t want to see me,” she added quickly. “He couldn’t possibly…”

“I honestly doubt that,” Varric replied gently. “Regardless, I guarantee you’re going to need it. And I promise, Hawke…I promise it’ll help.”

With no strength to argue she only nodded, her acquiescence apparent enough, and the three of them sat in sympathetic silence for the remainder of their time outside.


	15. Fumbling, Fumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to sexual assault/aftermath, self-loathing/blame, anxiety, brief references to character death
> 
>  ["The Becoming" by Nine Inch Nails](http://youtu.be/PCxz-d7jQwU)  
> ["One Line" by PJ Harvey](http://youtu.be/faeKcMX30t0)

It was Tuesday before she knew it.

Aveline had gone back to work the previous day, the same day Hawke had started her own new job at Lirene’s, which was going well. At the very least, it served as a fantastic distraction, as she’d never realised how busy the shop truly was until she was the one behind the cash register. It also helped that she really liked Lirene, and she could see why Anders spoke so highly of her. She had wondered to herself several times throughout those first two days, however, if she might see him there, how awkward that could be. She hadn’t, of course, and whether that made her feel better or worse was still open to debate. She reminded herself that running a clinic had to be a busy job, that even through his friendship with Lirene he more than likely rarely had time to visit, and otherwise tried her best not to think about it, shoving it into the vast pile of things she attempted to will herself to ignore.

“What are you so afraid of?” Varric asked that question over and over again in the back of her mind, even if he hadn’t yet once repeated it himself, that one small element of the previous week she couldn’t seem to bury despite how hard she tried. It wasn’t the worst of recent events she could have focused on, therefore she felt it could only really bother her so much, but she still seemed to physically react every time it came to her, as though trying to literally shake it out of her head.

By Sunday she could pretty much walk comfortably again. Varric started sleeping at his place again that night, as well. Everyone apparently decided all at once to pretend things were returning to normal, an unspoken agreement, met only with the condition that Hawke promise to again join their Kirkwall Crew that week. She didn’t protest, as much as she wanted to, because a part of her knew they were right.

It was also Sunday that she’d finally picked her phone back up for anything other than music or direction, when she finally read all of her missed messages from Thursday night.

_Hey, everything go okay? Just figured I would’ve heard from you now. Let me know. Good luck if you are still looking._

_Hey. I know you’re not still looking. Everything’s closed by now. What’s up? Everything okay?_

_Not trying to be your mother, I swear, but I am getting worried. Please text me back as soon as you get this._

_Hey, sorry to bother if you are but I only just thought of this. Are you with Anders? Busy, perhaps? Just let me know whenever you get a chance. Hope everything’s going well! ;-)_

_I talked to Anders. He said you left hours ago? What happened? He’s worried about you, too. Now this is starting to scare me. Please text me back, okay?_

_Trista Marianne Hawke, do not make me call your mother. I do not want to do that. You do not want me to do that. But it is late, and I am concerned. I will call your mother, so help me._

_Fine, I’m not actually going to call your mother. Not yet. If I don’t hear from you by a reasonable time tomorrow, however, I’ll have no choice but to tell her something might have happened._

_Please, Hawke, I’m really worried something happened. Call. Text. Send a fucking carrier pigeon. Just let me know you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere._

_Hawke. It’s Aveline. You know. Old friend, new flatmate. Remember me? Also new guard captain. I may not call your mother, but I will call out a squad._

_Hawke. Please come home. I’m going to bed now, but wake me if you need me if you do get in tonight. I hope you’re alive if nothing else._

Somehow reading through all of Aveline’s panicked messages almost made her feel better about the whole thing, and she’d even caught her eyes watering as she moved onto Varric’s.

_Is something wrong with Red’s phone? If you’re not getting anything from her, text me back. Text either of us if you are. We’d like to see you again eventually._

_Look. I’ll make you a deal. Text me back and Red and I will both still like you in the morning. Even if she is a nervous wreck. Don’t ask how I’m doing on that front._

_That was a joke. You know that was a joke. You know we’ll still like you either way. You do know that, right? I’m liking Red’s carrier pigeon idea. I’ll just assume we haven’t heard from you because you’re busy training one. I’ll wait._

_We’re still waiting. Please, Hawke, no pigeons actually need to be harmed in the making of this courtesy call, mmkay?_

As she finished through his messages she found herself trying to think back on how she’d been there for him when his brother died, how she’d been there for Aveline when her father died, and again when her fiancé did. She tried to remember that at least she had that, that it had to at least somewhat justify the way they continued to care for her, seemingly no matter what she put them through. She swallowed down her guilt as she moved onto the next thread, unsure what to expect, unsure how to prepare.

_Hey, it’s Anders. Aveline says you haven’t come home yet. Are you alright? I know things got tense back there, but I’m here if you need me. Let her know if you’re okay. Feel free to let me know, too, if you’re up for it._

_Hey there, me again. I’m really sorry to bother you, it’s just that no one’s heard from you and we’re starting to fear the worst. If nothing else, text Aveline and/or Varric back. I hope I’ll at least see you Tuesday._

She didn’t mention his messages to Aveline or Varric, even if she knew by that point she was no longer at risk for the previously dreaded “I told you so.” That ship had obviously sailed, but it didn’t make it any easier to know they’d been right, the raw ache eating away at her from still being the subject of concern, of such consideration, even affection, despite the apparent night of terror all three of them had endured over her.

She hadn’t slept very well Sunday night either, but it had been the best rest she’d gotten since before Bethany’s death all the same, and everything put together made her almost excited to worry about working.

Yet the moment she clocked out Tuesday evening, her heart immediately leapt into her throat, threatening to choke, and she instinctively tugged at the turtleneck Varric had bought her specifically to wear to work until all of her higher bruises disappeared. It hadn’t been until Saturday that she’d realised how far up they went, how close to her neck the bites must have gone, those marks mingling with the smaller ones that appeared around her shoulders from where she’d been held. Despite that, despite logic telling her it wouldn’t actually help her breathe any better, she couldn’t stop herself from ducking beside the shop to yank it off, leaving only a tank top under her jacket as she replaced it, shoving the more conservative shirt into her purse and pulling out her headphones.

_“I beat my machine. It’s a part of me, it’s inside of me. I’m stuck in this dream. It’s changing me, I am becoming…”_

She turned up the volume, so much so she was sure passers-by could probably hear it, too, and walked to the bus stop humming.

_“The me that you know had some second thoughts, he’s covered with scabs and he is broken and sore…”_

She looked at her phone even though she already knew roughly what time it was, sighing at the hard evidence before her that it was nearly another two hours before her evening obligation, almost two more hours to anxiously anticipate what might be in store. She’d promised she would talk, as much to herself as to Varric and Aveline, and she’d even given them permission to make her by bringing things up themselves if it came down to it, a decision she regretted immediately even if she knew full well it was the right call.

She arrived at her stop just in time to watch the Hightown bus pull away.

_“I can try to get away, but I’ve strapped myself in. I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears. I can see it killing away all of my bad parts. I don’t want to listen, but it’s all too clear…”_

The obvious next move was to go for her cigarettes, which she did, and she reached for her phone again at the same time to let Aveline know she’d be late, that the next bus wouldn’t arrive for another hour. It would almost certainly have been faster to walk home at that rate, but she knew Aveline would understand her decision not to do so. As long as she was keeping in touch she wouldn’t be met with panic, to which she’d usually have responded with petulance, but she knew that was especially unfair, then even moreso than it had been, so she only appreciated the thought behind it and made the effort to act accordingly.

_“It won’t give up, it wants me dead, goddamn this noise inside my head…”_

She decided to make her way over to the little collective of other various shops a few blocks down to bide her time, scowling to herself momentarily, tightness in her chest rising as she watched the Darktown bus pass by as well, swiftly picking up her pace as she walked.

_“Do you remember the first kiss? Stars shooting across the sky, to come to such a place as this. You never left my mind…”_

She made her way into the Trinkets Emporium, where her eyes were almost instantly caught by a figurine of an orange tabby cat. She involuntarily smiled to herself at the thought of how much fluffier Pounce was than the depiction of the one she saw there, and she couldn’t seem to help herself when she moved to pick it up.

_“And I draw a line, to your heart today, to your heart from mine, a line to keep us safe…”_

“Well,” she whispered to herself without thinking, “I wonder if you’d make a sufficient apology. Yes, ‘sorry about that whole thing where I jumped on you and then ran away instead of properly reciprocating feelings because my stupid fucking friends are stupidly fucking right and that absolutely terrifies me, but here’s a porcelain cat because I really need you to like me again.’ Yeah, that should work.”

_“All through the rising sun, all through the circling years, you were the only one who could have brought me here…”_

“Ah, fuck me,” she said to herself as she walked over to the counter to purchase the cat.

She took her bag from the cashier upon completing the transaction, chewing on her lower lip the whole time.

_“And I draw a line to your heart today, to your heart from mine, and pray to keep us safe…”_

She checked the time again, disappointed at how little she’d spent in the shop, but turned to walk back to the bus stop anyway.

_“Watch the stars now moving across the sky. Keep this feeling safe tonight.”_

She sat down on the sidewalk when she reached it, again humming to herself and fumbling through her purse. She turned the volume on her phone up as high as it would go in the vain hope that if she made it loud enough, she could drown out all thought. Shrugging to herself, she lit a cigarette with slightly shaking hands, chain smoking until the next bus came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've deliberated over what to do about some song lyrics with traditionally religious wording (e.g. the "goddamn" in this chapter or the "Lucifer" from the first chapter), but I've determined that I'm not going to swap out terminology for Andrastian equivalents because that just throws things off more than leaving them be does. I guess just consider it another form of mythology or even, in the case of "god," just generic phrasing? It's an AU, just go with it, haha.


	16. Paved with Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anxiety, references to rape/aftermath
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke greeted the front door to the clinic held by the same sweep of hesitance and panic with which she’d met it every other time thus far that she had been aware of her approach.

Varric had been waiting outside for them to show, already 8:04pm by the time they did. Aveline hadn’t made a big deal of Hawke’s dawdling, no matter how obviously intentional it was, and had given her space to try to emotionally prepare herself, had even agreed to make a stop to pick up coffee and cigarettes on the way, despite the fact that they were already running a little late.

Hawke knew, of course, that the extra consideration was only due to the fact that she was going to be crawling so far out of her comfort zone, to open herself up even further to a group of people which still mostly comprised of virtual strangers, but she hadn’t really argued over it. She knew she could explain if she wasn’t ready, knew she’d be heard, but she promised herself she wouldn’t give herself that chance, knowing herself well enough to acknowledge that, just like the week prior, she was better off simply getting it over with if she’d ever be able to do it at all.

Varric opened the door, holding it for her and Aveline, who physically pushed her through when she couldn’t seem to will herself to move of her own volition. It was only then that she realised she’d meant to change shirts, change into something with better coverage, and she briefly wondered if she’d subconsciously neglected to do so on purpose.

There were three chairs next to each other that had been left vacant for them in the back room, in the same spots they’d sat the previous week, so Hawke took her same position between Varric and Aveline, inhaling deeply as she nervously settled herself into it.

Everyone nodded quick greetings to them as all three of them took their seats, and Hawke noticed Anders’s eyes widen when he looked at her, his gaze drawn immediately to her visible bruises, and she bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip when she caught it, trying not to think of where his mind must have been going at the sight.

“So, now that we’re all here,” he began promptly, looking around the room as he did so, “how is everyone?”

No one spoke. Hawke glanced across the room herself to get a read on the rest of the crew, but no one was giving anything away. She hoped the same could be said for her, even though she could feel the harsh rise and fall of her chest, how heavily she was breathing, and the way her hands ached as she white-knuckled the edges of her seat at her sides.

“You okay?” Varric whispered to her, and she shook her head quickly, certain through the silence that everyone had heard him, despite how quietly he’d asked, that they must have caught everyone’s attention. “Do you need me to—”

She hastily nodded before he could finish forming his question, and he softly nodded back before looking forward again to address the whole group.

“Hawke’s had a pretty fucked up week,” he said bluntly, resting a hand over hers even as she held her rough grip on her chair.

“Would you like to talk about it…” Anders trailed off awkwardly, neglecting the inflection that would normally accompany a question, and she bit down harder on her lip as it occurred to her that he may he have intended to say her name, wondering if he had perhaps elected not to out of uncertainty over which one to use.

“Fuck,” she cursed herself under her breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes, to try to get any kind of idea about what he was feeling. He looked tired. He looked sad, that much stood out to her. Whether or not it was actually any more than usual, however, she genuinely couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” Varric whispered once more. “You’ve got this.”

“Okay…okay. Yeah. I’ve got this.” Hawke closed her eyes and inhaled deeply for five seconds, and then exhaled for seven, just like her father had taught her, before she opened them again. “I had a pretty big run with some bad decisions a few days ago. Even by _my_ standards.”

She tried to laugh, to smile, anything to shake off how intensely her emotions truly were overwhelming her in that moment, but it simply felt wrong. She took another breath and looked down, playing with words inside her mind, trying to figure out how to say what she needed to say. She was suddenly uncomfortably warm, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a move for her jacket, already feeling too exposed.

“I, umm,” she started again, “I got _hurt,_ I guess. I’m not honestly sure how else to put it. I’d made a different giant fuck up and I threw my own damn head off so completely I just sort of, well, tried to run away from myself? I certainly got more than I bargained for, but…”

Her eyes darted back to Anders, almost involuntarily, and his were set straight on her. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to think about it, not just yet, shifting her thoughts back to her purpose, her promise.

“I did want to punish myself, if I’m being completely honest. I know no one would’ve wanted me to do that. I know that logically, of course, but I can’t say that’s ever stopped me before.” She let go of the chair, hearing the crack of her knuckles prompted by the release, and began wringing her hands in her lap. “So he was right, that I wanted it to hurt, but not…not like it did. I told him I wanted him to stop, and I mean, eventually he sort of did but…but it wasn’t soon enough. But, like, what in the Void do you even call that? Does it count as…does it really count if you did consent in the begin—”

 _“Yes.”_ Isabela’s tone was firm as she abruptly spoke up, before Hawke could even finish the thought. “It absolutely fucking does, Hawke, and you do not _ever_ let anyone tell you otherwise…and that includes yourself.”

“Thanks?” Hawke replied sheepishly, thinking back on Isabela’s introduction the previous week, wondering if her response was related.

“I agree with Isabela,” Fenris added. “I do not know what it is to have initial consent negated, but I do understand such…violation, and I don’t see how saying yes to one thing can make what happened after any less traumatic.”

He sounded almost as though speaking through gritted teeth, but his expression conveyed empathy, and as Hawke glanced between him and Isabela, she couldn’t help but notice they were wearing the same face.

“How are you holding up?” Anders asked sincerely, and she saw as she looked back to him that he, too, wore that same look.

“About as well as can be expected, I guess,” she shrugged. “I am here, though, which seems like a step in the right direction. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

If anyone wondered what she meant by that, or even thought anything of it, no one said.

“That is a good step, you’re right,” Anders said sincerely. “And I am very glad you’re here.”

Hawke nodded gratefully, and he flashed her a soft smile. There were a few beats of silence that followed before Isabela spoke up again.

“So…now that I’ve finally gotten all you fuckers out once, who will I be seeing at karaoke tomorrow night?”

Hawke hadn’t realised there’d been a tension until Isabela’s question caused a short of burst of laughter from everyone in the room, effectively breaking it.

“That was actually Varric’s doing,” Fenris smiled at her. “He’s the one who asked _me,_ at least.”

“Aveline for me,” Anders chuckled, and Isabela playfully crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue.

“I’ve always gone for you,” Merrill smiled.

“I know you have, Kitten,” Isabela said with a wide grin. “But that’s not _actually_ an answer from the rest of you. I personally think we should make Hawke’s attendance this week mandatory.”

“Yes, that sounds like a great idea,” Merrill promptly agreed.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it, so she can only go if you can guarantee me proper adult supervision,” Aveline laughed.

“Not it,” Fenris and Varric immediately teased in unison.

“I’m right fucking here, you know,” Hawke chimed in, smiling along with the rest of them despite herself.

“In seriousness, Isabela,” Fenris spoke up again, “I’ll be there. I think I could use the company, even the time out.”

“Oh?” Anders turned towards him.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Even _I_ am starting to become concerned about the amount of drinking alone at home I’ve been doing.”

“Is it...” Anders started softly.

“Flashbacks, yes,” Fenris answered quickly, reservations over Hawke’s presence evidently less prevalent than they had been the week before.

Anders nodded back at him, and looked at Isabela. “Well, I believe you’ll see me there, too.”

“Not sure what it is,” Isabela turned towards Hawke with a smirk, “but it’s already been a lot more fun having you around.”

“Umm, thanks, I guess,” she smiled almost sarcastically, even if she had to admit to herself that she genuinely did appreciate it. “I can probably go for a little while, too. I’ll have to work the next day, though, so don’t worry, I simply won’t have enough _time_ for any personal catastrophes.”

“I’m still waiting on that list,” Anders added, and Hawke couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure, I’ll get right on that. After all, the awkward crew of damaged goods that karaokes together stays together, or something like that, right?”

“My paycheck kind of depends on that, yeah,” Isabela answered with a smile.

“Well, I guess that’s decided,” Varric chimed in. “Not necessarily me, mind you, I don’t know if I’ll be up for travelling all that way…”

Hawke playfully punched his arm, and everything felt much lighter than it had in days, which Aveline must have noticed as well, as she whispered, “I’m proud of you.”

Everyone talked back and forth for a little while longer, but when it became clear that the most serious part of the evening had already passed, the group agreed it was a good time to call it a night. Except for Hawke, who once again immediately began picking up chairs with Anders.

“Hey,” she said softly as she settled one onto the small stack and reached into her purse. “I got you something.”

She pulled out the cat figurine and handed it to him, and his eyes lit up upon taking it.

“You know, this looks _just_ like my first Ser Pounce-a-Lot,” he smiled. “Thank you.”

“I know it doesn’t make up for what I did…”

“Trista.” Anders stopped in his spot, making eye contact with her, and she let out a sigh of relief at his use of her first name. “I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t hurt or that I was okay after you left or any of that, but…I understand all the same. I also certainly can’t pretend that I haven’t ever run away from feeling myself. Fuck, for how much of my life was running away from everything I possibly could all I really knew? I can’t honestly say it’s okay, but at the same time it’s…well, it’s _okay._ Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” she nodded, and it really did.

Before she knew it he had his arms wrapped tightly around her, a motion she promptly reciprocated. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Trista.”

“Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder, voice cracking just slightly. “I don’t suppose it would be at all fair of me to ask for a do-over?”

“I…I don’t know,” he answered sincerely, with an undertone of sadness. “But I know that I want to. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you will.”

“I promise I’ll stay away from Radiohead.”

“Thanks,” she said with a small laugh.

They broke from each other at that, and Hawke could see that his glazed eyes had small notes of red in them, and she went back to chewing on her lip as they both turned towards the last of the chairs.

They said their goodbyes, and Varric and Aveline stepped in to do the same, and Hawke was stopped by Isabela as she crossed the threshold into the hallway, at which she nearly jumped.

“Sorry about that, sweet thing,” Isabela smirked playfully at her, although her tone was genuine. “But if I might offer a word of advice…”

“Yes?” Hawke titled her head at Isabela with pure curiosity.

“I know this probably isn’t my place,” she started, leaning into the wall behind her and crossing her arms with a smile. “I just want you to know that I was absolutely fucking terrified to start things with Merrill. _Terrified,_ honestly, it was painful. Yet, even though everything is pretty new and so far we’re still just figuring it out as we go along, that woman is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and every single day I’m with her I regret that I didn’t let myself go for it sooner. Just a little something to keep in mind.”

“Isabela…”

“Just something to keep in mind, that’s all,” she winked. “See you tomorrow!”

Isabela began to walk out ahead of them as soon as she finished speaking, and Hawke stopped for a moment, waiting for either Aveline or Varric to say something, but neither did.

Hawke took another deep breath as they exited the clinic, wondering to herself just what exactly she’d gotten into.


	17. Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied/referenced abuse
> 
> This chapter is honestly mostly re-building some fluff. Better establishing camaraderie with a healthy dose of OTP trash. These kids have earned it.
> 
> ["Dust in the Wind" by Kansas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tH2w6Oxx0kQ)   
>  ["Without You I'm Nothing" by Placebo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLmypIo-wFY)   
>  ["Drive" by Incubus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgT9zGkiLig)   
>  ["Cloud on My Tongue" by Tori Amos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uomGFMW8le4)   
>  ["Dig Up Her Bones" by the Misfits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgSLz5FeXUg)

Hawke went straight to Varric’s after work. She didn’t see the point in going home whenever she was just going to be heading back to Lowtown in a couple of hours, and she knew Varric didn’t have anything better to do, despite his claims that he’d been working on writing a big freelance piece for a local blog.

As she walked into his apartment, she was surprised to be greeted not only by Varric, but by Isabela and Merrill as well.

“Okay, Rivaini, since this is your first time here sober, and Daisy’s first time here full stop, I’ve got to initiate you,” Varric was telling them as Hawke let herself in.

“Oh no,” Hawke laughed as she joined them in his main room, and Varric cleared his throat deliberately as everyone else said their hellos.

“As I was saying,” he started up again. “You’ve just _got_ to hear this one song, that’s all, okay? Trust me, I swear it’ll change your life…”

“Everyone knows that fucking song, Varric,” Hawke chuckled as he plugged in his speakers anyway, hitting play on his iPod.

_“I close my eyes, only for a moment but the moment’s gone…”_

“She’s right, Varric,” Isabela smiled. “Literally everyone ever has heard this song at least a hundred times.”

“True, but at least it’s a nice song,” Merrill added.

“Yes, Kitten,” Isabela laughed before turning back to Varric. “But of course you would be _that_ fucking guy.”

“Hey,” he chuckled. “My house, my rules.”

_“Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea. All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see…”_

“Has he always been like this, Hawke?” Merrill asked with a grin.

“Yes,” she shook her head. “Yes, he has. At least as long as I’ve known him.”

“Fuck all of you,” Varric laughed.

_“Now don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. It slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy…”_

“Alright, but seriously,” Hawke spoke up again, “Varric, aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Eh, I’m almost done, I can take a break.”

_“Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind…”_

“What are you working on?” Merrill asked sincerely.

“It’s just a fluff piece,” he shrugged. “There’s this organisation of local creators that puts together various pieces—art, stories, what have you—based on and inspired by the city, trying to make this shithole seem more appealing or whatever, I guess. I got commissioned for a one-shot with the potential to become a series depending on its reception. Just a cheesy romance, but hopefully it does well enough to continue and I end up with the funds to officially make a decent offer on the tavern.”

“Well, what’s it about?” Hawke asked as she sat herself on the floor by the coffee table and made a grab for the ashtray.

“It’s, ah, about a tough but deeply passionate guardswoman who’s come to Kirkwall followed by loss, who then runs into love,” Varric smirked.

“That sort of sounds like Aveline,” Merrill smiled.

“That sounds exactly like Aveline is going to murder you in your sleep,” Isabela laughed.

“It certainly sounds like something I’ll be keeping my mouth shut about, at least,” Hawke winked as she lit a cigarette. “What the fuck even _was_ the prompt they gave you?”

“In my defense,” Varric exclaimed dramatically, “I was _actually_ commissioned for a romance. Although that may or may not be the _only_ part they directly asked for.”

“Dead man walking,” Isabela laughed again as she pulled out her cloves.

“Can we at least wait until everything’s all said and done to send Red after me?” Varric teased. “What she doesn’t know…”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Varric,” Merrill assured. “I mean, we all drink for free once you get the Hanged Man, right? Seems like a fair trade to me.”

“Well played!” Hawke grinned. “A fair trade, indeed, Varric.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Daisy,” Varric chuckled. “But I can’t really argue with that.”

“Oh, I do so look forward to making you regret saying that,” Isabela chimed in to everyone’s amusement.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Rivaini.”

***

Anders and Fenris had both already arrived by the time the four of them made their way into the tavern proper for Isabela to start setting up, so Hawke, Merrill, and Varric immediately sat down to join them.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Varric asked as he pulled up his chair.

“Oh, you know,” Fenris shrugged in response. “We can’t all be as joyous as this one.”

He nodded towards Anders, who stared intently into his phone with a wide smile.

“Ah,” Varric laughed. “And what are you so happy about there, Blondie?”

Anders abruptly lifted his eyes to look around the table. “Oh! I just, umm…I finally caught Billy the Kitten…”

Hawke laughed as she moved herself in towards him so she could take a peek down at his phone as well. “And just what is that?”

“It’s just this silly game where you collect cats by leaving out food and toys and various objects, and some of them will lure in specific cats, and some cats are rarer than others, and I’ve been after Billy the Kitten for a while and…”

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh at Anders’s obvious embarrassment over being so excited about his cat game. “Okay, but what makes Billy so special?”

“Billy _the Kitten,”_ he corrected, “and he’s one of the special items cats, but my personal favourite bit is _this.”_

He pulled up the screen to show the information on the cat, a smiling orange tabby in a cowboy hat, pointing at the heading that read “Personality,” under which it listed “Nihilistic.”

“Okay, I’m in,” Hawke smiled sincerely, pulling out her own phone. “What’s this called so I can download it?”

“It’s called Neko Atsume…yeah, it’s that one,” he noted as she typed into the search on her app store, spotting it right away. “Please keep me updated on your progress as you go!”

“Of course,” she laughed. “And shall I come to you if I need advice on cat-catching?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded happily as Isabela abruptly dropped a couple of books down in front of them.

“Here you kids go,” she teased. “Do me a favour and actually properly participate this time?”

“Hey now,” Anders retorted. “I did last time, if you recall correctly.”

“Yes, well.” Isabela quickly stuck out her tongue at him. “Not just you, alright.”

“Fine, fine,” Hawke laughed as she grabbed herself a book. “I’ll try to have some fun tonight, I promise.”

“Good girl! It’s almost time, so…”

“Red’s really not coming tonight, Hawke?” Varric asked as Isabela walked away.

“I tried, I really did, but she has to be up way earlier than me, so I guess I can’t really say anything,” she shrugged.

“That’s fair,” Merrill replied. “She must have _such_ a demanding job, too, so it makes sense.”

“You know, you never did finish telling me about what you do, Merrill,” Hawke said as she turned towards her. “You mentioned being a Dalish historian, but that’s as far as we got.”

“Ah well,” she smiled, “I work in the archives at the University. It’s nice because I sort of created my own position so I have a lot of free reign to come and go as I please and I set up all of my own projects. The day to day work isn’t terribly interesting, to be honest; like I said before, my focus is research and preservation so I spend most of my time just sorting through old documents and artifacts or behind a computer. But it’s important work—or at least I think it is—and it’s incredibly fulfilling, and I do love it, even if it doesn’t always make for great conversation.”

“Have you ever considered teaching?”

“Isabela’s asked me the same question, but I’m really not sure about that one. I’d prefer to write about it, actually. I’m hoping that eventually I’ll have compiled enough of value to put a book together.”

“Now if only you knew someone with connections in the literary field, Daisy,” Varric interjected.

“Oh, Varric, I couldn’t possibly ask—”

“You didn’t,” he smiled. “Just say the word whenever you’re ready and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, thank you!”

“That is very kind of you, indeed, Dwarf,” Fenris chimed in.

“Oh don’t you start that shit, too, Broody.”

“Broody?” Hawke rolled her eyes. “You really _are_ just asking for retaliation at this point, you know.”

“Oh, he knows,” Fenris laughed.

Everyone ceased their conversations as the music started and Isabela began her introductions. Hawke, Anders, Merrill, and Varric all picked out what they wanted to sing first and turned in their selections, and then continued the decision making process when Norah arrived at the table to take their drink orders.

Hawke sighed when Isabela called her up to the booth first, before her drink could even arrive, and she reluctantly stood up and accepted the microphone with slightly shaking hands, gaze drawn immediately to Anders, who perked up with recognition as her first choice started.

_“Strange infatuation seems to grace the evening tide, I’ll take it by your side…”_

Her eyes met his and she tried to will herself to look at the screen before her instead, but it didn’t help that she knew the song well enough not to need it.

_“Such imagination seems to help the feeling slide, I’ll take it by your side…”_

She noted that he was smiling, at least, which she couldn’t help but find reassuring, even if she knew it could easily have been only because he enjoyed the song, as well.

_“Instant correlation sucks and breeds a pack of lies, I’ll take it by your side. Oversaturation curls the skin and tans the hide, I’ll take it by your side. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tick, tick…”_

She glanced quickly at Varric, who was looking back and forth between her and Anders, his expression smug, and she decided she didn’t care. She’d have been lying if she said she hadn’t thought of Anders when she put in the song, even if she hadn’t consciously considered quite how obvious that would be, and that she had to start somewhere and this had been as good a place as any, and she felt the shake subside as she met his eyes again.

_“I’m unclean, a libertine, and every time you vent your spleen I seem to lose the power of speech, you’re slipping slowly from my reach, you grow me like an evergreen, you never see the lonely me at all…”_

Norah smiled at her from the table as she placed everyone’s drinks down, and as she made another quick glance around she noticed that everyone else in their group was also looking at Anders, and she wondered if he realised.

_“I take the plan, spin it sideways. I fall…”_

Anders was tapping his fingers along the table in tune, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and that was when Hawke realised she, too, had a smile on her face.

_“Without you, I’m nothing. Without you, I’m nothing. Without you, I’m nothing. Take the plan, spin it sideways. Without you, I’m nothing at all.”_

She stepped down to the standard polite applause from her friends that typically went along with any given karaoke group outing, and immediately took a long drink from her beer as she hit the chair.

“Very nice,” Anders said as she placed the half-emptied bottle back on the table.

“Thanks,” she responded genuinely, and she went for her cigarettes just as Isabela called his name.

“That was super subtle, Hawke, very good,” Varric joked as he pushed the table’s ashtray towards her once Anders had gotten up to take his turn.

“Oh, fuck you, Varric,” she laughed awkwardly.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be,” Merrill offered.

“Yeah,” Hawke said thoughtfully. “Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’ve finally decided I don’t want to run from something for once in my fucking life.”

“Well, good on you, then,” Fenris smiled, raising his glass playfully. “May all go according to plan.”

“Nothing ever does, though, does it?” Hawke chuckled as she raised her bottle towards him, to which he simply shook his head.

_“Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty loud and clear, and I can’t help but ask myself how much I let the fear take the wheel and steer…”_

“So, shall we be anticipating any grand declarations of love any time soon, then?” Varric teased.

“Still a little soon for ‘love,’” Hawke rolled her eyes with a puff of her cigarette. _“Ass._ Besides, I think, if you don’t mind, that I just need to try to focus on rebuilding some trust for the time being.”

“Well, so what is the plan?”

“I…I don’t know yet.”

_“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there, with open arms and open eyes…”_

“Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, Hawke,” Fenris spoke up again, “but I suspect he forgives you.”

Varric and Merrill both nodded as Fenris motioned towards Anders, whose eyes were on her much as hers had been on him just minutes before.

_“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there, I’ll be there…”_

“He said he wants to. So I have that, at least. I doubt he could that easily have done so already, though, but I appreciate the thought,” she replied, contemplating the idea, as she finished her drink.

“It’ll all work out,” Isabela chimed in, unexpectedly appearing next to her. “Trust me on that one.”

“And just what makes you so sure?” Hawke’s eyes shifted towards her as she moved around the table to lean over Merrill, wrapping her arms her from behind her chair.

“Because I think you two need each other,” Isabela answered bluntly.

_“It’s driven me before and it seems to be the way that everyone else gets around, but lately I am beginning to find that when I drive myself my light is found…”_

“Need,” Hawke pondered, punctuated by a long drag from her cigarette. “Hmm. It’s not like I expect him to fix me, even I know it doesn’t work that way and I guarantee he knows it, too.”

“See, that’s exactly why it’ll work,” Isabela smiled. “You’re both smart enough to know there are limits, and that’s a good thing. If you do expect having someone in your life to be some magical cure-all, then it’s doomed from the start. You can be realistic and hope for the best, though. You can help each other. I’ve no doubt you already have.”

_“And would you choose water over wine and hold my own and drive…”_

“Well, fuck,” Hawke muttered as she put out the end of the cigarette. “You certainly do make good points.”

“You hear that, Kitten?” Isabela laughed, kissing the top of Merrill’s head. “I make good points.”

“You do talk a lot for someone who was doing this same damn dance not too long ago,” Varric teased.

_“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there…”_

“Varric, I am astute as fuck,” she straightened her stance, preparing to walk back over to the booth. “I’m spectacularly observant and I credit a very large part of my survival to how well I read people and situations, and just because I suck at being able to pick up on my own needs sometimes does not for one second mean I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about right now. I do. Believe me.”

She quickly slipped back to where she was needed as she finished her thought, shooting a wink towards Hawke as she moved.

“I decided to go the slightly more generic route, figured that might be safer,” Anders stated as he sat back down next to her, greeted by the same polite applause from the rest of the table that she had received. “Was that alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” she smiled. “That’s, umm…that’s incredibly considerate of you.”

“I try.”

Merrill’s name was the next to be called, and she happily moved to take her place by the booth.

“Those two really are adorable,” Hawke mused aloud, unthinking.

“That they are,” Anders agreed quietly. “That they are.”

_“Someone’s knocking on my kitchen door, leave the wood outside. All the girls here are freezing cold. Leave me with your Borneo, I don’t need much to keep me warm…”_

“Still not going to sing anything, Fenris?” Hawke asked after a moment.

“Maker, no,” he shook his head.

“Ah come on, you can’t be that bad,” Varric laughed.

“Perhaps not, but…it’s just not me, is all. Isabela knows better than to be bothered.”

“Fair enough,” Anders said simply.

“So, Anders, how’s Pounce?” Hawke spoke up again with a smile.

“He’s fine, thank you,” Anders laughed.

“You’re thinking about him in a cowboy hat now, aren’t you?”

“What? I…” Anders tried to look offended, but quickly realised it was a failure. “Yes.”

Hawke practically giggled as she lit another cigarette, and Anders picked up his phone again to check on his game.

_“Got a cloud sleeping on my tongue, he goes and it goes, and kiss the violets as they’re waking up…”_

“So what do you do, Fenris?” Hawke asked after another moment’s silence between them.

“I work for a non-profit which aims to help children in severely abusive situations and provides resources to adult survivors,” he answered.

“Oh wow,” Hawke said sincerely. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” he nodded. “I, umm, I suppose I determined that would be the best path to my own personal healing. It is, of course, its own game of politics and shirking off attempts at Chantry involvement and even, far too often, the utter devastation of trying your best to help a child and not being able to do anything, but I can’t honestly imagine doing anything else. Eventually, if I can ever get my own shit together well enough, I’d like to perhaps try my hand at law school so I can move up the advocacy ladder, maybe be able to do more personally.”

“That’s incredibly admirable,” Hawke replied.

“You’ll get there, Fenris,” Anders added. “I know you will.”

“Thanks.”

_“You’re already in there, I’ll be wearing your tattoo. You’re already in there. Thought I was over the bridge now. I’m already in circles and circles and circles again, the girl’s in circles and circles, got to stop spinning…”_

Another moment passed and the group clapped for Merrill as her song ended, and Varric was the next to be called.

“Now, the real question, do I have one more drink or not?” Hawke chuckled to herself as Varric made his way over to Isabela.

“How early do you have to work tomorrow?” Merrill asked.

_“Anything is what she is, anywhere is where she’s from, anything is what she’ll be, anything as long as it’s mine…”_

“I don’t start until 10:00, which means I should be able to sleep until 9:00 suggesting I trust the buses to agree with me in the morning,” she replied. “Although, if I crash upstairs, then I wouldn’t have to get up until, like, 9:45…”

“I suppose one more wouldn’t kill you, then,” Merrill nodded.

“Just don’t forget we promised Aveline we’d keep you out of trouble,” Fenris smirked.

“I believe I specifically remember you adamantly declining to do so,” Hawke laughed.

“Oh, Hawke,” Isabela appeared once again. “You’ll get used to us. I just assumed Varric alone would’ve been enough practice for you.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke sighed with a playful shake of her head. “So I’ve gone from having two overbearing sarcastic asshole mothers to…how many of you are there again?”

“Well, I’d subtract one from the ‘mother’ pool, at least,” Isabela teased, tilting her head towards Anders.

“Is that really appropriate right now, Isabela?” Fenris chimed in. “Although I don’t suppose there is any good reason I even asked that out loud as though you’d find it a valid concern.”

“I was just going to say,” she laughed, “you really ought to know me better than that.”

“Thanks anyway, Fenris,” Hawke noted.

_“Point me to the sky above, I can’t get there on my own, walk me to the graveyard, dig up her bones…”_

“I’m just trying to help,” Isabela grinned. “If that requires the occasional inappropriate push here and there to get these fucking nerds together, then I will gladly take on that responsibility.”

“We’re sitting right here, you know,” Hawke and Anders exclaimed at roughly the same time.

“See?” Isabela laughed as she moved to saunter back to the booth. “Just doing my job.”

“Is she always this insufferable?” Hawke half-joked once she’d left them.

“She really does just want to help,” Merrill shrugged. “After all, isn’t this how the rest of you talked about us for a good year or so? Except that none of you ever said it to either of our faces and I know how much she wishes you would have. Creators, even for as uncomfortable as that could have been, so do I, honestly. So this is just her doing the right thing, at least as far as she sees it.”

“Well,” Anders cleared his throat. “I guess that’s…very sweet of her.”

“Anders,” Hawke spoke up awkwardly after a tense moment. “Would you like to talk outside?”

“Sure,” he nodded and they both stood up. She decided she could apologise to Varric for walking out when she did later on, strongly suspecting he’d understand once the rest of the group would inevitably waste no time in informing him of the context.

Hawke lit another cigarette as they took their same places against the wall as the week before, swallowing hard, contemplating what to even say.

“Is this weird?” She let out after a minute. “This is fucking weird, isn’t it?”

“Maker, yes,” he agreed.

“I can go,” she said solemnly. “It might be easier if I just go home for now.”

“No, Trista…” Anders took in a deep breath. “Sure, this is all very…whatever the fuck this is, but I honestly think we’re just going to need to get through it.”

“Are they going to let us?” Hawke laughed half-heartedly.

“I suppose their hearts _are_ in the right places, at least,” he smiled.

“Have I mentioned that I’m sorry?” She took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling quickly to take another, swallowing against the slight burn in her throat. “I am so fucking sorry, Anders.”

“You have, and I know, and _you_ know that I’m not upset with you,” he sighed as she sat down on the sidewalk. “Trista, I told you…”

“Well, why the shit not, Anders?” She hadn’t meant to yell, but her voice came out loud, shrill, and she cringed at how much her tone reminded her of her mother.

He sat down beside her, resting a hand on her thigh. Instinct told her to pull back her leg entirely, but she somehow managed to remain still.

“You can’t punish yourself like this,” he said softly. “And don’t tell me that’s not what you’re doing, you can’t get that shit past me any better than I can get it past you.”

“Why can’t I?” She huffed, feeling childish and hating herself for it as she took another long drag and stared hard at the ground with her exhale.

“You know damn well that’s a bad path to send yourself down, and you don’t deserve it.”

“I do, though.” Her voice cracked sharply, and she began to chew on her lip as she flicked the end of her cigarette into the sewer grate just ahead. “Maker, this almost feels like fucking déjà vu.”

“Think of it as familiar,” he smiled, and she just shook her head.

“I’m not sure how I feel about the two of us sitting on the fucking ground outside the tavern being sad as the familiarity hallmark of this relationship,” she laughed softly, as well as she could, and lit another cigarette.

“Yeah, well,” he nudged, “I can’t really complain. I mean, have you met us? This only makes pretty much perfect sense.”

There was another long moment of silence, which Hawke couldn’t help but notice was again comfortable, and even in fact familiar.

“Why do you like me?” She pulled up her right knee and rested her arm over it, watching his hand as it stayed in place on her left thigh, as though waiting for it to abruptly move.

“Because I do,” he shrugged slightly. “Because you’ve got a big heart and you care more than you let on, and you have a lot of love to give even if it scares you to learn how to show it. Because of your sense of humour, and because my cat likes you, too. Because you like good music and I bet I’ll make you smile if I tell you your cigarette traces a ladder to the stars. See?”

He paused to laugh for a moment as she did smile, even as she could feel her eyes watering at the same time.

“I badly need people in my life I can make cheesy Velvet Goldmine references to, you have no idea,” he laughed again. “And maybe I’m being terribly selfish, but I feel like you get me. And I see so much of myself in you, and I don’t hate what I’m looking at when I do. Which I guess is a fucked up thing of me to put on you, but it’s there. I just…I like you, Trista. I like you so much it scares the shit out of me.”

She took a deep breath and another puff from her cigarette, and she tried to push down the wave of emotion overcoming her as she spoke again. “How the fuck can you say any of that, Anders? I like you, too, you know that I do, but that _terrifies_ me so much and you’ve already seen how well I can handle that, and it should already be _abundantly_ clear to you that you deserve better than…than _this.”_

“What I said last night isn’t any less true than it is right now,” he said softly. “But I can’t change how hard that is any more than I can change how much I care about you. I’m not expecting anything about this to be easy. We’re both too damaged, too intense, too fucked up inside our own heads. But like I also said last night, I still want to try. This could be a disaster, sure, but I don’t want to live without it.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We just go, I think. Let it take us wherever it takes us. Not sure what else we _can_ do, honestly.”

There was another pause, and they remained quiet while Hawke finished her cigarette.

“You still haven’t known me that long. You still don’t actually know me that well,” she noted as she flicked the end.

“You can say the same for me, but you feel it, too, don’t you?” Anders’s tone was sincere, albeit cautious.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Well, alright, then,” he added quickly before another minute’s silence.

“Anders?” Hawke whispered as she turned towards him, and his hand trailed off of her thigh to wrap around her own, resting between them on the sidewalk. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“You, too,” he answered just as softly, kissing her forehead. “Fuck, Trista…you, too.”

“Hey, remember how I said I didn’t want to keep ending up in the clinic every time I go to the Hanged Man?”

“We don’t have to stop in the clinic this time.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. I really can’t stay too long, though.”

“I’ll take you to work.”

“Fuck it, let’s go.”


	18. Collide Just Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief eating disorder and rape references, brief Karl mention
> 
> No music this chapter.
> 
> This one's basically just straight fluff. Which also involves smut. Finally. Again, they've earned it.

They didn’t stop in the clinic.

They practically ran through the halls, making their way upstairs as quickly as their feet could carry them. Even as they practically sprinted through the building Hawke still wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing, what they were actually running towards, and she didn’t think Anders really did either, but they weren’t going to let that stop them.

“This way,” Anders spoke up once they made their way inside the apartment, their only possible destination suddenly glaringly obvious to them both, and they ignored Pounce’s loud mewling as he led her behind the couch and through the short hallway that ended at his bedroom, slamming the door behind them as soon as they crossed it.

Hawke didn’t waste any time, pulling him towards her and pressing her lips against his, kissing him over and over again as he guided her towards the bed.

She pulled him in closer when they made contact with it, as she laid herself on her back and grabbed him tight, holding him over her, running her fingers through his hair, moving her tongue softly against his, making her best effort to close any possible space between them.

“Are you okay?” Anders asked as he moved back just slightly, and Hawke could only nod fervently. “This is okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out heavily. “You?”

“Fuck yes,” he rasped, and Hawke’s grasp on his hair instantly tightened as she reclaimed his mouth.

He broke from her again, moving to run his lips down her neck, across her chest, back up the other side. His hands seemed to move of their own accord, passing through her hair, over her chest, under her shirt.

They parted from each other just enough for her to take it off completely, at which Anders stood up entirely so he could undress himself while giving her enough room to finish doing the same.

He paused for a moment to look her up and down, and she used the opportunity to take him in as well. She couldn’t help the ache in her chest upon seeing his thin frame without clothes on, and she made a mental note to go for more bagel runs in the future. At the same time, however, he looked exactly as she’d imagined he would, and she involuntarily bit her lip as she watched him watching her.

She realised that his eyes kept going back to the remains of her bruises, faded substantially but still obvious enough, and she forced herself to take in a deep breath. “Anders?”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he slowly knelt back onto the bed. “Trista, are you sure—”

“Please,” she whispered, the word uttered far more desperately than she’d intended, and she swallowed as she looked him directly in the eyes, suddenly terrified that he could change his mind, that he could run out on her just as she had done to him, that he might finally have realised she wouldn’t be worth the effort. “Please don’t stop, don’t let go, please…”

At that he quickly crawled his way back over her, lifting her slightly as his arms wrapped around her, and she shuddered as he pulled on her bottom lip with his teeth before kissing her again, rough and passionate and insatiable, and without even realising she was doing it she hooked both of her legs around his hips and her arms across his back.

They both moaned as he entered her, neither of them even trying as their bodies tangled together, and both of their grips tightened. There was no conscious intention behind their pacing, no deliberate course of motion. They moved together, bodies sticking from quickly forming sweat, breaths rapid, their actions neither rough nor gentle, their timing neither fast nor slow. There was no real rhyme or reason to the way they crashed together, the rhythm of the creaks of the mattress, the beat of their skin slapping together. It just was, the desperate product of pure need, every bit as much emotional as physical, and it was perfect. Anders’s thrusting grew more intense when she clenched around him, as she shouted into his mouth with rolled eyes when she came, one time becoming a second becoming a third and so on, as she grew louder with each breath.

“Fuck, Trista,” Anders groaned, voice shaky, “I’m—”

She released her hold on him and pushed him off, onto his back, holding onto his thighs as she leaned over him and took him into her mouth, only managing to take him all in once before he finished with a raspy moan and spilled down her throat.

She swallowed and carefully pushed away, breathlessly rolling onto her side once her head found a pillow, and she couldn’t help the contented hum that escaped her lips when he rolled up behind her, taking her into his arms, kissing her neck and shoulder, both of them still slightly shaking.

She awkwardly grabbed on to his forearms as they rested below her chest, pressing herself into him harder when he shifted a little, needing to keep him close, and only a little bit embarrassed by it when she caught his small nasal laugh.

“We fit together really well,” she mumbled to herself after a moment, and she could feel his smile against her neck.

“How are you feeling? Everything still good?” Anders sounded as tired as she felt, and she laughed softly to herself at how comfortable she was, how accurate her sleepy statement had been.

“Yeah,” she breathed out with a nod. “Yeah, everything is very good. How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah.” His tone perfectly mimicked hers, causing her to laugh again.

“Anders?” She bit her lip, wondering to herself why she wanted to keep talking but seemingly unable to stop herself from doing so. “Is it weird to feel so close to someone after so little time?”

“I think so,” he answered with a widening smile, which caused his teeth to graze just slightly against her neck, and she shivered at the sensation. “But hey, it happens.”

“Not a first for you, then?” She momentarily screwed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to shut up as he shook his head.

“That’s how it was with Karl,” he whispered solemnly, and she mentally cursed herself for saying anything.

“Fuck,” she cursed herself aloud as well, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh,” he prompted softly, thoughtlessly nuzzling his nose below her ear. “It’s okay. It’s good.”

“You’re good,” she giggled quietly, the pull of sleep rapidly growing stronger.

“Mmph,” was the only response he mustered as he slowly buried his face between her neck and shoulder.

“Goodnight, Anders.”

“Mmph.”

She reached clumsily around to pull a sheet over them and for once it didn’t take long for sleep to reach her, for once sleep was restful, even peaceful, pleasant.

Safe.


	19. My Heart Ticks Like a Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: eating disorder mention, discussions of character deaths
> 
> Honestly, this chapter is mostly just pure trashfluff. Still just letting these two have a much needed break for a bit, haha. And I did not previously realise how much I apparently _really_ like the idea of Lirene being Anders's Mom-Friend. Oops.
> 
> ["This Is Love" by PJ Harvey](http://youtu.be/STxXS5lLunE)   
>  ["Oh! You Pretty Things" by David Bowie](http://youtu.be/ixLm9eSYldE)

_Dinner tonight? I’m done at 6:30._

Hawke hit send with a smile, finding herself in the best mood she had felt in as long as she could remember. She still wasn’t looking forward to seeing Aveline later, however, especially since she and Anders had neglected to discuss what exactly the events of the previous night meant for the development of their relationship, and the issue of if or when they were going to openly discuss it was not something she was willing to make assumptions about.

She had at least made a point to text Aveline from the car as they’d made their way to Anders’s from the Hanged Man, to inform her she wouldn’t be going home that evening, but she didn’t add any kind of detail. It was a safe bet that Aveline would have assumed she’d simply crashed at Varric’s, but she also knew full well that once it came to light she hadn’t, especially when Varric surely knew by then the circumstances under which Hawke and Anders had left together so abruptly, that speculation was imminent, and that the facts before them were more than enough for such speculation to be proven entirely accurate.

_Same here. Sounds like a plan. I can pick you up. 7:00 or 8:00, maybe? Whatever’s good for you._

She thought for a moment about having to stop at home, rolling around the idea that it could mean the chance to change clothes, make herself feel more presentable, even if only to wear something different than the same exact outfit from the day before.

“Fuck it,” she whispered to herself as she moved to type her reply.

_I can probably be at your place right around 7:00 if I head over straight from work. How about that?_

She took a short drag from her cigarette, seated on a small bench behind Lirene’s, trying to extend her smoke break for as long as she could get away with while she solidified her plans. Fortunately, her phone buzzed again just as she noticed that she had reached the end anyway, and she read the message as she tossed the remains of her cigarette into the designated can by her feet.

_Works for me. See you then._

She breathed a sigh of relief, however ridiculous that made her feel, and walked back into the shop with a grin.

“Well,” Lirene smirked as Hawke made her way back to the register and stuffed her phone into her pocket. “Looks like _someone_ has been using their smoking time to talk to Anders.”

“What?” Hawke tried her best to feign innocence, even though she knew Lirene saw right through her. “Why do you say that?”

“Aww!” Evelina, a young woman who worked as a caretaker for the children of the Fereldan refugees who were still having a hard time finding steady incomes in Kirkwall, and who regularly spent a great deal of time in the shop speaking with Lirene, looked absolutely delighted by the exchange. “You and the Healer, then? That’s wonderful!”

“Oh Maker…the Healer?” Hawke cocked her head at Evelina, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had not yet managed to suppress the pleased look on her face.

“Anders, yes,” Evelina replied excitedly. “That’s just how we’ve typically referred to him around here since his arrival, you know, to try to preserve at least _some_ anonymity for him given the circumstances. That man’s presence here has been a miracle for so many, I honestly don’t know what we ever did without him. You’re a very lucky woman, Serah Hawke.”

“Oh, umm,” she mumbled, unsure of how to respond. “I still don’t know, though…”

“You two haven’t been exactly subtle, dear,” Lirene chuckled softly. “You think he tosses out my name out to everyone for help? And that reference he gave you, Maker’s breath, imagine my surprise when I found out you’d practically only just met.”

“What did he say about me?” Hawke’s curiosity was pronounced, nearly overwhelming how awkward the discussion around her made her feel.

“Oh, he just went on about what a lovely person you are and what a great asset you could be. The usual, I suppose, but there was such an enthusiasm to it,” Lirene beamed at her. “Just know he thinks very highly of you. And judging by your not-so-slick text breaks and that look on your face—not even to mention that you couldn’t possibly think I wouldn’t notice you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes—it’s nice to know the feeling must be mutual. So, seeing him tonight, then, are we?”

Hawke could only hope that her cheeks hadn’t turned quite as red as she feared as she nodded. “Well, we still have to figure out what everything actually means, I suppose, but…umm…yes, I’ll be seeing him after work.”

“Oh, you should pick up one of those lovely dresses that just came in from Wade and Herren,” Evelina smiled.

“Oh yes,” Lirene agreed. “They’re the best designers in Ferelden and we just got a whole shipment.”

“Well, my official break’s in 20 minutes, so I guess I can—”

“Oh, go ahead now,” Lirene insisted to Evelina’s great joy.

She could hear them continue their own speculations while she sorted through the rack they’d pointed to, reminding herself over and over that Lirene was a good friend of Anders’s and that she did give her a job, so it seemed it was only polite to entertain her, even if she did find it so uncomfortable. That feeling was, of course, only exacerbated by thinking of how Aveline and Varric, and even the rest of the Crew, would be if this was already the response she was receiving from those who were still nearly strangers.

She quickly settled on a black sleeveless dress with thin straps and an asymmetrical skirt, which fell just above her knees from the front but was long and flowing in the back, given that it was conventionally pretty but would work well with her boots, with the fact that she immediately spotted one in her size without having to look very hard serving as an added bonus, and she couldn’t help but smile when she presented it to Lirene and Evelina for their approval, which was granted happily, and even moreso when Lirene didn’t charge her for it.

“You really just want him to have nice things, don’t you?” Hawke laughed softly as she ducked into the break room to quickly fold her new dress and set it on top of her purse.

“Maker knows he deserves it,” Lirene nodded and Hawke couldn’t have agreed more, even if she still had her doubts that she could possibly fall into that category.

***

_“I can’t believe that life’s so complex when I just wanna sit here and watch you undress…”_

She’d changed her clothes right after clocking out, much to Lirene’s delight, and immediately made her way to the bus stop where she’d paced slightly as she waited, anxious movements which then turned to fidgeting in her seat once the bus had arrived.

_“Does it have to be a life full of dread? I wanna chase you ‘round the table, I wanna touch your head…”_

She once again thought to text Aveline to let her know she wouldn’t be coming straight home, again sparing any detail at all regarding the reason, and then sent a quick message to Anders just to tell him she was on her way.

_“I can’t believe that the axis turns on suffering when you taste so good. I can’t believe that the axis turns on suffering when my head burns…”_

She thought to herself that even for as nervous as she was to see him, as nervous as she was over all the thoughts flowing through her mind about what kind of conversation their dinner would entail, even as she continued to play with her hands, even as she continued to awkwardly readjust her position where she sat, that she was strangely excited at the same time, that how antsy she felt wasn’t entirely out of anxiety.

She looked down at her phone again to see if there was any response from Aveline. There wasn’t, but she did notice that her last message had been read, and she could only assume it meant by that point the most likely case was that Aveline wasn’t asking questions because she already knew the answers, even if Hawke wasn’t yet entirely certain she even knew what precisely those answers were herself.

_“You’re the only story that I never told, you’re my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so…”_

Hawke took in a deep breath as she realised that she was at her destination’s penultimate bus stop, and another as she hit the stop request once it began moving again.

_“Come on out, come on over, help me forget; keep the walls from falling as they’re tumbling in…”_

She quickly hopped off the bus when it stopped again, and she immediately picked up her pace as she turned towards Anders’s building, practically jogging her way over to it.

_“Keep the walls from falling on me, tumbling in. Keep the walls from falling as they’re tumbling in. This is love, this is love, that I’m feeling…”_

She turned off the music and texted him to say she was outside the very moment the clinic became visible from where she was, and the door opened before her right as she stepped in front of it.

“Hey,” she smiled. 

“Hey,” he said back, eyeing her carefully. “You, umm…you look fantastic.”

“Thanks,” she laughed quietly. “I suppose I _can_ clean up well, then.”

“Dammit, Trista, you know what I mean,” he chuckled softly.

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a smirk. “Lirene just sort of insisted I…well…”

She waved her hands around, gesturing to indicate her appearance, and Anders simply nodded.

“Maker, you can’t slip anything past that woman,” he noted as his nod transitioned into head shaking.

“Yeah, I’ve just figured that one out,” she laughed. “So any ideas for food?”

“Caffè Seleny?” Anders suggested. “Isabela’s said good things. She has a friend in Antiva and apparently they always go there whenever they visit, so…”

“Well, that sounds like a pretty solid recommendation,” she agreed. “Shall we, then?”

“Indeed, we shall,” he answered with a grin.

They hastily made their way back out the door and to Anders’s car, and their ride to the Hightown restaurant was mostly quiet, aside from the low sound of the music coming from the shoddy speakers.

_“Wake up, you sleepy head, put on some clothes, get out of bed. Put another log on the fire for me, I’ve made some breakfast and coffee. Look out my window and what do I see? A crack in the sky and a hand reaching down to me. All the nightmares came today, and it looks as though they’re here to stay…”_

“Perhaps you ought to get that fixed?” Hawke mused at the occasional crackle.

“Meh,” Anders shrugged, and he moved to take her hand as he did so.

_“What are we coming to? No room for me, no fun for you. I think about a world to come, where books were found by the golden ones. Written in pain, written in awe, by a puzzled man who questioned what we were here for. All the strangers came today, and it looks as though they’re here to stay…”_

The mood between them was light as Anders sang along, seemingly without thinking, and Hawke couldn’t help her smile at how much she liked the sound of it.

_“Oh you pretty things, don’t you know you’re driving your mamas and papas insane? Let me make it plain, you gotta make way for the Homo Superior…”_

“You have a really nice voice,” she finally said out loud.

“Oh, umm, thank you,” he replied, and he seemed genuinely flattered. “You would honestly be absolutely appalled by how little music I really knew before I lived in Amaranthine, but it’s that sort of thing where once I discovered how good it can be, I just latched on completely, you know?”

“Very well, yes,” she agreed. “I suppose I am lucky on that front. My father used to play this all the time, actually.”

“Really?” Anders smiled. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, he was,” she laughed, and they both simply listened in silence for the remainder of the ride.

They parked as close to their destination as Anders could find, holding hands as they walked, all the way up until they were being seated.

“This looks like it was a good choice,” Hawke noted upon picking up a menu once their drink orders had been taken and their server stepped away. “Antivan food seems a good match for you, too. It’ll be nice to know you’re actually eating something substantial.”

“I’m doing my best,” Anders responded, eyes shifting downward as he awkwardly picked up his own menu.

“Shit, sorry, that was insensitive,” she chastised herself. “I just…I’m sorry, I just worry about you.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiled sincerely. “I’ve made a lot of progress from where I used to be, I can tell you that much for sure. It’s always going to be an ongoing process, but I am trying.”

“Good,” she nodded. “I know, when I’m not being a terrible ass about it, evidently, that that’s all one can really ask for.”

“Just ‘one’?” Anders laughed cautiously.

“Or, you know, me,” she admitted. “I’m sure the general ‘one’ still applies, though. Seems you do have a lot of people who really care about you. You’ve certainly made plenty of impressions within Lirene’s circle, at least. Speaking of which, by the way, Evelina says ‘hello.’”

“Oh, she didn’t happen to say anything about how Cricket’s doing, did she?” Hawke shook her head, and Anders continued. “Poor bugger had a nasty case of pneumonia last month, I suppose I’ll need to call her about bringing him back in for a check-up.”

“I can see why you’re so important to them,” Hawke smiled, and he looked back up at her, warm eyes practically glowing as he returned the expression.

“So,” Hawke spoke up again, “it seems the proverbial cat has just fucking torn its bag to shreds as far as Lirene is concerned.”

“I suppose I really should have seen that one coming,” Anders sighed. “That’s not, umm, an issue for you, is it?”

“Not really, it was just very strange being the centre of attention like I was today over it,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it was good practice for dealing with my dear friends later, though. I do hope for his sake that Varric actually did call off his bet with Aveline…”

“Wait,” Anders exclaimed with a laugh. “You mean to tell me Varric was the one betting _against_ us having sex? I honestly would’ve put my own money down on the reverse.”

“Well,” Hawke chuckled, “I can see how you might think that. The real issue, however, is that while they both know me entirely too well, they also each put too much of their own personalities into their assumptions here.”

“Oh?” Anders tilted his head inquisitively, and Hawke could only shake hers in response.

“As I’ve already mentioned, I’m the queen of the one-night stand,” Hawke explained. “I don’t date, I don’t even really talk much or get to know a person. I generally don’t actually give a fuck what your name is. Which has never really been a thing for them, thankfully they never seemed to judge me for it, but that’s just how I’ve always done it. Now, Aveline is practical. She knows I genuinely like you and she knows I’m not going to have any clue how to handle seeing you again later if I stick to my usual pattern, but she knows I still have said pattern. She also knows full well that I am terribly impulsive and self-destructive. So in her mind, the most likely case is that I would still default to just going for it and simply ignoring potential consequences until after. Which, to be fair, is a very _me_ thing to do.”

“But Varric doesn’t see things that way?”

“Oh no, he does,” she laughed. “But Varric is—although he would never in a thousand ages admit it—a hopeless romantic. It’s in all his writing so you can pull up fucking evidence when he argues about it, but I digress. He also sees my pattern, and he sees the same thing Aveline does regarding not knowing how to like a person or ever speak to them again after we fuck. So in his mind, I don’t take that approach. In his mind I’m far more cautious, I take it slow, tiptoe around the issue. Because, to be fair, he also knows full well how much I like to avoid having emotions, and that becomes more of a factor in his interpretation of the situation. So I don’t just pounce on you like I do in Aveline’s imaginings, but I dance around you forever until neither of us can take it any longer, and then there’s a whole big emotional display where we finally confess our undying love for each other, and _that_ is when—at last—we bang. Honestly, I guess Varric just expects everyone’s awkward romantic encounters to play out like Aveline and Donnic’s at this point.”

“Or Merrill and Isabela’s,” Anders noted.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Hawke smiled. “Aveline’s known me longer, though, so even though neither of them were completely right _or_ wrong, here we are.”

“I guess they could really just call it even if the bet is still on,” he added. “In practice their theories sort of met right in the middle, didn’t they?”

“Huh,” she responded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose they did.”

They both moved to their menus completely at that, and it wasn’t long after that the server returned to deliver their drinks and take their orders.

“Things are still going well with Donnic, then?” Anders asked after their server departed once again. “They’re on a year next month if I remember correctly, yes?”

“Yes,” Hawke laughed. “Someone has a memory.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse,” he smiled, despite the sincerity in his voice over the statement.

“They’ve been really good for each other, yeah,” Hawke continued. “I definitely think those two are in it for the long haul.”

“That’s wonderful,” he replied. “I know she has trouble sometimes, with Wesley and…well, you know. She’s mentioned talking with you about it, at least.”

“Ah,” she vocalised, immediately understanding why he’d brought it up. “Yes, well, I can’t pretend to know what that’s like for her, and I know she does struggle with it still, but she also knows Wesley wanted her to be happy, and that he’d have hated it if she had just sat around pining after him for the rest of her life, you know? I’ve certainly seen how hard moving on from something like that can be for someone, and I’ve honestly no doubt it always will be, but she makes it work, and she and Donnic really do love each other and that’s been a great help.”

“That’s very good,” he nodded, and Hawke could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “I’m glad it’s working out.”

“Yeah,” she muttered quietly. “Me, too.”

Several minutes of silence passed, each of them casually checking their phones and sipping their drinks as it did, and it wasn’t long before their dinners were brought out to them.

“Well, that was quick,” Anders noted as they both reached for their forks, and Hawke cheerfully expressed her agreement.

“Really good, too,” she added between bites. “Good call, Anders.”

“That it is. I guess we’ll have to make a point to thank Isabela later,” he laughed, and the implication of the statement lingered over them.

“Well,” Hawke spoke up after a moment. “Seems we’ve officially reached the point where we can no longer get around the elephant in the room.”

“Yes, it seems we have,” Anders nodded.

“So, I guess the question is really just what we actually tell Isabela we’re thanking her for,” she laughed awkwardly. “Or even just what the fuck I tell Aveline and Varric whenever the inevitable deluge of questions happens, which at this rate I suspect will be sooner rather than later.”

“Oh, umm…perhaps I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions but,” he replied nervously, “I did assume this was a date.”

“Oh no, I assumed the same,” she assured him, and he looked relieved when she did. “I guess I just didn’t want to make any assumptions beyond that point? This is really new to me, is all.”

She forced a smile that she hoped was comforting, but she couldn’t get a read on whether it had actually made any difference.

“That’s fair,” he finally smiled. “This is a new experience for me, too, you know.”

“Is it?” The thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to her, even though she realised it made complete sense as she spoke.

“The only real romantic relationship I’ve ever had was with Karl,” he answered with a nod. “Quick casual encounters are fairly commonplace within Circles, but they always have to be rushed and it can be difficult to pull off so much as a good location just to make the attempt to get that far, so they very rarely evolve beyond friends with benefits-type deals, if they even become that involved. For fuck’s sake, _that’s_ a level of commitment most would still be too afraid to try for. Karl and I were rather unique as far as that’s concerned, and I honestly just haven’t had the time, much less the emotional stability, to pursue anything like it since I got out.”

“You have the emotional stability now, then?” Hawke laughed despite herself.

“Maker, no,” he laughed back. “You’re just the first person I’ve met since who’s been able to get me anywhere near past that block.”

“Well,” she sighed, “I think it’s clear you’re not alone in that one.”

“Alright,” he said as he leaned forward, meeting her eyes. “What do you want this to be?”

“You’re asking me?” She had to suppress the urge to laugh again, not because she found anything about the situation to be funny, but because she had the sudden desperate need to deflect, to break away, and she silently prayed to no one that he couldn’t detect the strange fear crawling over her. “I, umm…fuck, Anders. What I want this to be is…well, I just want this _to be.”_

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

“So, umm, what now? What do we call this? Do we call it anything? Am I speaking too soon?” She ran a finger over the rim of her glass again and again as her words quickly fell from her mouth, and she hated how obvious her anxiety had become, but Anders seemed unfazed.

“I don’t know,” he replied earnestly. “I’m honestly in no rush to place labels on it. I know questions are coming and we do need to discuss how to answer them, but…”

“But we need to figure things out at our own pace and they’re just going to need to respect that,” she smiled, thankful they appeared to be on the same page.

“Exactly,” Anders nodded. “Is that just what we tell them, then?”

“Yeah,” Hawke answered thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“Well, that was easy enough,” he said with just the smallest hint of a laugh, which Hawke returned.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

They finally went back to their meals at that, everything around them feeling substantially calmer, and they let themselves enjoy the rest of their evening from there, shutting away all concern for what was to come as best they could, and when Anders kissed her goodnight after pulling up to her building, she wasn’t nearly as worried about what kind of conversation seeing Aveline would bring. It wasn’t so scary anymore. It just was, and for once that was enough.


	20. Home Is Abstract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of character deaths, suicidal thoughts, dysfunctional family, xenophobia
> 
> No music this chapter.

“Well,” Aveline started with a grin as Hawke walked through the door. _“Someone_ has some explaining to do.”

“That would seem to be the case, wouldn’t it?” She smiled back, and Aveline excitedly leaned forward in her seat on the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table to pause whatever she was watching.

“So how’s Anders?” She leaned back, and Hawke sat down in one of the chairs, bracing herself for the discussion at hand, still feeling nervous, but somehow at ease all the same.

“He’s well, I think,” she answered with a smirk, playing around in her head with the words she wanted to say, how she planned to say them. “Dare I ask what sort of fuckery you’ve already heard on the subject?”

Aveline laughed and shook her head slightly. “It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. All I know is you and Anders ran out of the Hanged Man in a hurry and no one’s seen you since, so the conclusions just drew themselves.”

“And whatever _you’re_ thinking is, actually, probably true this time,” Hawke admitted, almost eagerly, and Aveline’s smile widened.

“Good,” she replied gently. “Honestly, Hawke, for as much as we’ve all teased, I’m…I’m just glad to hear it. You deserve this. Maker, you both do.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I, umm…I really care about him, Aveline.”

“I know you do.” Aveline opened up her arms when Hawke stood up to move over to sit next to her, resting her head on Aveline’s shoulder as she embraced her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Hawke answered softly. “It’s just been a very strange couple of weeks, hasn’t it? I mean, it feels like everything’s changing, and that’s not even all bad, but it’s still…it’s still a thing, I guess is all.”

“Valid,” Aveline chuckled. “I think it’s probably about time, though. I never realised before things started shaking up how much I feel like I’ve just been going through the motions since we came here. I can’t even begin to express how much I wish the circumstances had been different, but I almost feel like we’re being given a chance here, Hawke. A chance to start living, instead of just…surviving. You know?”

“Huh,” Hawke exhaled gently. “I never thought of it, either, but I see your point. Although I’m not sure I was ever really living myself, honestly, even before we moved.”

“That’s fair,” Aveline nodded. “I suppose this is all _really_ overdue for you, then.”

“It’s almost funny, how even though it was his experiences that kept us so secluded,” Hawke almost laughed, “I somehow felt so much freer when Father was still around. I actually felt alive, then, I think. Perhaps the issue is more that a piece of me died with him.”

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to know him as well as the rest of your family,” Aveline noted. “Your mother’s always said how like him you are.”

“One can only hope,” she smiled. “I’ve really been missing him lately.”

“If there _is_ any sort of life after this one, perhaps he and Bethany really are together now.” There was a sadness to it, and Hawke knew why.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“No,” Aveline admitted. “I don’t honestly think I do. Fuck knows, though, I clearly have no idea what really happens next. So I guess anything’s possible, and if there truly is a Maker, or even the Creators, or what have you, well…it’s a nice thought all the same, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she nodded, not really reassured but appreciative of the offer. “That it is. But _fuck,_ I miss her, too.”

“So do I,” Aveline answered with a sigh. “I just hope she’s finally found some peace, no matter what that means.”

“Same here,” Hawke smiled, and she thought that even if the answer was nothing, it would at least mean rest, and the thought was strangely comforting.

“And I’ll believe in whoever the fuck will have me if it means you find some, too, while you’re still here.” The sentiment was nearly a whisper, and Hawke wasn’t entirely sure Aveline had intended to say it out loud, but she gripped her tighter all the same.

“I’m here now, Aveline.” Her voice cracked slightly through her reply. “And I’m trying my hardest to stay. I swear.”

“I know. I know you are, Hawke,” she responded, and she sounded uncharacteristically small. “I’m so grateful for it, believe me.”

“Kirkwall Crew has been a gift, you know,” she admitted, and she realised she’d completely let go of her guard on the subject, realised what a relief that genuinely was. She felt she owed them that much, at least. “I’m sorry I was such an ass about it in the beginning, but I’m really glad I joined. It’s sort of like…well, I guess this is what family’s _supposed to_ feel like, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Aveline said as a smile reappeared. “Speaking of which, though, we should probably start planning an actual moving day. At least I would assume you’d like to have the rest of your things where you actually live.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Hawke sighed playfully, even if the idea behind such a response was sincere. “I can’t put it off forever…I mean, I can’t really, right? Or can I?”

Aveline laughed, and Hawke joined her. “No, you can’t. We could get everyone together to help, I’m sure they would. I know you don’t have enough to warrant _such_ a group effort, but I figure it might help to have all the moral support we can gather. Then, I was thinking, we could have a proper housewarming party?”

“I’d like that,” Hawke agreed gratefully. “You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t heard from Mother or Carver since the funeral. Not that I’m complaining, obviously, but it’s certainly surprising.”

“That’s because I blocked their numbers in your phone when you weren’t looking,” Aveline confessed, which caused Hawke to sit up with an absolute cackle.

“You didn’t…”

“I did,” she shrugged. “You needed a break, and it’s not like the action’s irreversible. I’m sorry for the invasion, but…actually, you know what, I’m really not.”

“Thanks,” Hawke laughed. “How has _your_ phone not been blowing up since, though?”

“It has,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’ve just run out of fucks to give them. I’ve told them in no uncertain terms that you live here now and that you can make contact whenever you’re ready but no sooner, and that we’ll be by eventually to officially move you out and there is literally nothing they can do about it but accept it and move on, and if that’s not the route they want to go, then that’s _their_ problem, not yours.”

“I love so much, Aveline, you know that,” Hawke expressed sincerely, ever impressed by the lengths her friends would go to for her. “How have they taken it?”

“Your mother’s reactions have been, I’m sure, exactly what you’d expect,” she said flatly. “Carver, on the other hand, has actually been fairly understanding. Not necessarily of you, of course…he certainly still doesn’t seem to get it, not really, but it didn’t take him long to respect it. Perhaps there really is hope for him yet.”

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it,” she smirked, and Aveline only nodded.

“So we’ll text around, coordinate schedules, sound good?” Aveline asked carefully.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Hawke answered with a nod, and she meant it.

“Alright, though, so you and Anders…”

“Andraste’s tits, Aveline…”

“Oh, come on!”

“Fine, fine,” Hawke shook her head. “Nothing’s official, and that’s how we both want—or _need_ might be more accurate, I suppose—it to be right now. We’ve made our feelings clear, we did spend a proper night together, and now we’ve even had a date, but it seems we both know ourselves well enough not to push it. We haven’t even known each other for a fortnight, mind you, and he’s honestly winging this just as much as I am, so I guess time will really tell.”

“Alright,” Aveline nodded, clearly satisfied. “Nice dress, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Hawke chuckled. “Courtesy of Lirene. She’s almost as much of a pain in the ass as you and Varric. Almost.”

“She must really care about Anders, then,” Aveline retorted, still smiling.

“Yes,” Hawke replied, opting to be serious. “Yes, she really does.”

There was a brief pause, and Hawke expected Aveline to move back to the television, but she spoke up again instead.

“How are you holding up otherwise?”

“Holding,” Hawke shrugged. “It’s been great to have so many distractions, but things have still been what they’ve been, and that’s not so easy to push down completely.”

“Neither is it healthy,” Aveline noted. “Acknowledging it like that is definitely progress, though. That’s good, Hawke.”

“Thanks, Mother,” she laughed.

“I guess I earned that one,” Aveline shook her head.

“Maybe a little,” Hawke smiled. “How’s work treating you, Captain?”

“It’s a transition,” she sighed. “I didn’t realise how much resentment some of the guard still hold towards us until I became the person they have to answer to. I think ‘the Fereldan bitch with the Orlesian name’ is my favourite one I’ve heard so far.”

“Ouch, fuck,” Hawke responded quickly, taken aback by it herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Aveline said quietly. “Do you ever miss it, though? Ferelden, I mean? Do you ever think about going home? Not to Lothering, I suppose, reports have it that the damage done there was severe enough that it’ll be years before it’s inhabitable again, but…”

“I think about it from time to time, yeah,” Hawke answered thoughtfully. “I don’t honestly know if I’d ever actually want to go back, but it _is_ still home. I guess it always will be. You?”

“Same,” she admitted. “My life is here now, and that’s strangely okay, but you’re right, Ferelden _will_ always be home.”

Another silence passed, and Hawke grabbed the blanket on the edge of the couch that Aveline hadn’t put away from Varric’s extended stay, feeling oddly comfortable when she spread it over them both.

“So,” she finally spoke up, only then bothering to glance at the television screen, which had since gone black, “what are you watching?”

“Fight Club,” she grinned, and Hawke gave her a knowing look. “What? It’s my comfort movie. I actually wasn’t too far in, if you’d like me to start it over.”

“Always,” Hawke laughed, and it felt like as good an end to the conversation as any when the familiar sound of the Dust Brothers started and they both leaned back to enjoy the calm they had each so desperately needed.


	21. The Miracle of Progress Walking Through the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dysfunctional family dynamics, implied/referenced emotional abuse, mentions of Bethany
> 
> No music this chapter.

The remainder of the week had been uneventful. Lirene was absolutely unapologetic in how pleased she was to learn that Hawke’s dinner with Anders had gone well, and Hawke had found her usual discomfort taking a backseat, found that she had simply been able to appreciate the enthusiasm towards Anders’s, if not also her own, well-being.

Hawke and Aveline had worked together to get everything in order for moving, and she couldn’t help her nerves at learning everyone could make it for that Saturday. A part of her had hoped it might be a little more difficult to schedule, that she and her friends simply each having their own lives would be enough to buy her some time, but she didn’t argue when it came time to solidify their plans.

She and Aveline waited outside the historic Amell Estate for Varric to arrive, and then Anders, and then Fenris, and then Donnic, and then Merrill and Isabela, and the deconstructed cardboard boxes almost everyone carried with them. She couldn’t deny that it was a relief to be surrounded by what had become her seven favourite people, the support they provided and even just the sheer number of them a comforting thought, even if her hands still shook as she reached for her keys.

She nervously turned the lock and pushed open the door, slowly inching it forward, her eyes darting all around her surroundings as she moved with it.

“Oh, Trista. Hey.”

She nearly leaped through the foyer upon hearing her brother’s voice, and she took a deep breath to try to still herself when she carefully took her next few steps, clearing the entrance completely and allowing her friends room to follow her inside.

“Umm, hi, Carver,” she managed. “I wasn’t sure anyone would be home.”

“Just me,” he smiled awkwardly, clearly as unsure how to handle the stark tension quickly settling between them as she was. “How, uh, how have you been?”

“Alright, I suppose,” she answered, and she felt Anders come up behind her, his arm carefully moving across her waist as she spoke. “Made some friends.”

“I see,” he nodded, looking over the group of them. “Well, I’m Carver. Maker knows whatever you may have heard about me, if anything. I’m almost afraid to ask. To be fair, though, it’d probably be all true.”

“Hate to break it you, Junior, but there have been more pressing matters,” Varric interjected harshly.

“Oh, umm, that’s Fenris, Isabela, Merrill…and you already know those three, of course,” Hawke followed, gesturing towards Varric, Aveline, and Donnic at the latter mention, markedly more uncomfortable after Varric’s remark despite how well-intentioned she knew it was. “And ah, this is Anders.”

“Pleasure,” Carver replied flatly, crossing his arms. “Trista, can we talk?”

“Sure,” she said with her best attempt at confidence. “Well, we’re talking right now. So have at it.”

“I’d feel more comfortable without the audience, if you don’t mind,” he gritted, and his brow furrowed.

“I wouldn’t, and I do,” Hawke retorted, suddenly determined to stand her ground, not to have to do any of this alone.

“Well, it’s not always fucking about what you want!” Carver’s voice bellowed, his temper visibly creeping to the surface, and Anders moved in closer, gripped her tighter.

“Fine, then,” Hawke shrugged, feigning apathy despite the obvious shake in her reply. “Eight people and, what, five cars? This should be quick work. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Fuck…no, wait,” he sighed, shaking his head in clear resignation. “It’s just that I haven’t even seen you since…well…and I know how Mother can be, I can even understand that if it’s time for you to move on then it’s time for you to move on, and that’s fine, but…dammit, Trista, I just didn’t realise I was losing _both_ of my sisters.”

She only blinked at him for a moment, taken aback completely, and she took in a deep breath before she spoke up again. “I’m still here, Carver. I’m just not _here_ here. I can’t do that anymore, I can’t, and don’t tell me you understand because we both know you don’t, but I _am_ present right now.”

“I don’t understand, and you’re right that I shouldn’t pretend I do,” he admitted. “I couldn’t possibly imagine what Bethany went through that led her to do what she did, and I _am_ sorry that you can. But you’re not the only one grieving, okay? Bethany wasn’t yours alone to lose. Neither was Father.”

“Carver—”

“Listen, like I said, I don’t get it, that’s fine,” he interrupted. “I’m sure it’s different for you and I don’t envy that. I’m sure you have excuses, even valid ones, but it’d still be great if you could stop making them sometimes and just pick up your fucking phone every once in a while. Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” Hawke shook her head slightly. “No, it’s not.”

“Well, alright,” Carver nodded. “We’ll catch up sometime, then?”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he shifted awkwardly, looking around at everyone else present once again. “This _is_ probably for the best. You’re my sister and I love you, but Maker…”

“If I don’t drive you mad?” Hawke laughed. “It’s mutual, don’t worry.”

“I know,” he smiled. “Okay, get your shit. Nice seeing everyone. Or meeting. Whichever applies, I guess. Have fun.”

“Oh, we will,” Isabela chimed in sarcastically, which seemed to lighten the tone substantially. “Nothing says good times like moving!”

“Oh but if your presence isn’t just a ray of bloody sunshine over the occasion,” Fenris teased back, and everyone quickly made their way upstairs to Hawke’s old room.

The holes in the wall had yet to be touched. She suspected, in fact, that they were the first to enter the room at all since her departure, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had become of Bethany’s, if she might be able to bring herself to look. At least she knew as far as her own former space was concerned that she was at no risk of judgment either from the damage or even the general state of the area, which was a mess, so she quickly moved to the first pile of clothes her eyes fixed on and gestured for someone to hand her a box, which Varric supplied readily.

“That…certainly could have been worse,” Aveline said after a moment, relief evident. Hawke could only have imagined how anxious the exchange had made her feel as well, and she pushed aside the small pang of guilt that accompanied the thought, the realisation that she hadn’t even considered it in the moment.

“You have all said he’s not officially a lost cause yet,” Donnic shrugged with a comforting smile. “Maybe you’re right, maybe there is still hope.”

“Maybe there is, indeed,” Hawke nodded as she balled up a sweater and shoved it into her box, not even bothering to attempt to fold. 

“So what do you need us to do?” Merrill asked, and Hawke noticed everyone had begun constructing boxes around her.

“Umm, I guess if you really want to help pack, you can,” she shrugged. “There’s not much rhyme or reason to this catastrophe, sorry, so you don’t need to worry about keeping shit organised or anything like that…”

“So just box at will?” Fenris followed.

“Yep, that ought to do it!”

She’d been right that it would be a fast process. Even without the extra assistance, she didn’t have much besides clothes that she was taking with her. She didn’t need the bed or any of the furnishings, the room she’d claimed at Aveline’s had already been completely functional as full-time living quarters even before she’d moved in. They didn’t even fill half of the boxes they’d collected for the occasion, but everyone insisted on tearing them back down and taking them with them instead of just leaving them, as Hawke had suggested. She knew it would have been a terribly petty gesture, but she hadn’t before realised just how much she felt like a child in that house, confronted with the rest of the surviving Hawkes, and she couldn’t help her pout when they denied her idea.

“Trista? You alright?” Anders sat down beside her on the bed as she sealed up the last of what she’d be leaving with.

“I think so,” she answered softly. “It’s just strange how little like myself I feel being here right now. I don’t think I knew I even was a person beyond _this_ before I left.”

She ran her fingers along some of the cracks in the wall at the statement, scowling at the emphasis “this” held in context.

“It’s no wonder I wasn’t there for Bethany,” she continued, her voice sullen, laced with guilt. “I don’t know if there was ever really a _me_ here to do _anything_ worth a damn.”

Anders looked like he wanted to say something, but a sharp knock stopped him.

“Yes?” Hawke was tentative, her hands still moving across the damaged wall.

“Sorry to intrude,” Carver said as he cracked open the door, “but I just spoke to Mother and she’s going to be home early. She said she’s on her way now, so I’d give her maybe 20 minutes, at _most._ I don’t want to rush you, but I did assume you’d intended to be out of here before she got back.”

“You are correct!” Hawke nearly shouted, her chest suddenly pounding at the thought. “Excellent timing on our part, then!”

She quickly stood up and Anders followed suit, and everyone began collecting her things to begin making their exit.

“Carver?” She added before he turned away, gesturing for him to come towards her. “Thank you.”

They embraced, albeit awkwardly, but it still carried with it the sensation of a weight being lifted, of perhaps a chance being given. She had no illusions about whether she and her brother would ever be close, of course. They were two very different people with often intensely clashing personalities, both of them regularly too stubborn for their own good, but she held him tight for just a moment with the relief that she may yet have a brother still, despite it all, needing that reassurance more than she’d ever have been willing to admit, and comforted by the knowledge that the feeling had proven mutual.

“I’ll see you later, Trista,” Carver said quietly when he pulled away, nodding at everyone else in the room.

Hawke glanced back at Bethany’s room as she exited what had been hers, morbid curiosity pressing hard against the edges of her mind. She knew looking would accomplish nothing at best, but she still let out a sigh of frustration when Aveline elbowed her forward all the same.

Between the eight of them, it only took one trip to carry down all of the boxes. Aveline and Fenris had been able to take multiples—Hawke was certain they were both purely showing off with their hauls—but her friends in general seemed equally surprised and relieved by how accurate her repeated shrugs over the quantity of her belongings had been. Even most of what boxes they’d filled had been on the smaller side, although that didn’t make the idea of having to unpack and sort through it all later on feel any less overwhelming. She shrugged to herself with the reminder that this was also the reason they were having a party that evening, and she smiled a little to herself as she automatically took a seat in Anders’s car as soon as everything had been loaded, ready to feel like that too-long chapter of her life was over.

“Tris…?”

Anders’s voice sounded simply puzzled as he pulled away to Hawke’s sudden cackling, as she covered her face with her hands and sharp, unexpected laughter burst forth from her, to which she could only point to the long white sedan crossing their path, pulling into the driveway the group of them had all only just begun pulling away from.

“Oh, that is…that is fucking perfect,” she shook her head, the brief wave of panic quickly subsiding as Anders reached the end of the street and flipped on his turn signal. For a split second she could see her mother step out of her car, could vaguely see her looking inquisitively, even suspiciously at the unusually long line of cars exiting their street, but she faded out of sight once they made the turn, and Hawke breathed out a deep sigh of relief.

“Good thing your brother warned us when he did, then,” Anders said warmly, and she noticed the relief in his own eyes when she looked back at him as they started onto the main road. She assumed that Aveline and Varric must have told him enough for him to have his own reservations about encountering the evidently infamous Leandra Amell-Hawke, and she grabbed onto his hand without thinking at the realisation.

“Thank you for coming,” she said quietly after a moment with a squeeze, and Anders nodded, punctuating the motion with a smile.

“Of course,” he answered sincerely, returning her grip. “How do you feel?”

“Good, I think,” she replied quickly, honestly despite the small waver in her tone. “Glad to have that done with at least. Now we just get to look forward to tonight.”

“That we do,” he agreed with a grin. “So what _are_ our plans for the evening?”

“Aveline won’t tell me,” she chuckled. “Would you like to stick around in the meantime? We could find out together.”

“You mean help you unpack?” Anders laughed, and Hawke turned to stick her tongue out at him.

“Maker, no,” she smiled. “I wasn’t really planning on starting that today, to be honest. I know I’ll need to do it eventually, but right now…I just thought you might want to hang out? Unless you have other plans, of course…”

“Just laundry,” he said thoughtfully. “But laundry can always wait.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapters have names now just because this was my only fic with chapters where they didn't have titles and that bothered me. And because why not, right?


	22. But the More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: reference to trauma/night terrors from a previous chapter, reference to disordered eating, overthinking/self-sabotage, drinking/implied alcohol abuse, reference to rape, implied self-harm
> 
> ["Marian" by the Sisters of Mercy](http://youtu.be/d8m1nRzsOJM)   
>  ["The Memory Remains" by Metallica](http://youtu.be/RDN4awrpPQQ)

Boxes were stacked in a back corner of what then, finally, officially felt like Hawke’s new room, some carefully and some not so much, and then with similar care eight people squeezed themselves into the main room of the apartment to take a break before they set their evening plans.

“I guess this place isn’t quite as big as I thought it was,” Varric laughed as he sat down on the floor, and Aveline playfully swatted at him from the couch. Donnic sat close next to her, leaving Fenris ample space on the other end.

Hawke took one of the armchairs, smiling at Merrill and Isabela, who shared the other. Anders looked around for a moment and seemed to consider taking a cue from them, but instead he seated himself on the floor directly next to Hawke’s chair. She didn’t blame him, and she even knew she would have done the same thing in his place, but she still had to shake away the thought of taking the action as a personal affront.

“Anyone want coffee?” Aveline asked after a moment, and it was Varric who stood at the resounding “yes” that burst forth throughout the room.

“I’ve got it, Red,” he waved, heading towards the kitchen to get a pot started.

“So when are we doing things?” Hawke spoke up, and she could have sworn Isabela giggled under her breath at the question.

“You didn’t tell her, Big Girl?” Isabela smirked and Aveline only shook her head with her own grin, so she continued. “The Hanged Man’s putting me on twice a week now. Starting tonight.”

“Congratulations,” Anders offered promptly.

“Indeed,” Hawke added excitedly. “That sounds _exactly_ like what this day needs. And you know what _that_ means, Aveline…”

“Hmm?” Aveline cocked her head at Hawke.

“You’re fucking singing,” she laughed, and Aveline simply sighed.

“Oh yes, please!” Isabela laughed harder than expected, inadvertently causing Merrill to shift on her lap.

“I hate you,” Aveline teased, but it was clear she was not going to argue.

“Just a heads up, Kitten, we’re going to need to get going after coffee,” Isabela noted to Merrill, who nodded back.

“So, Merrill, I’m curious, do you have a pet name for Isabela? Or do I even want to know?” Hawke smiled at them fondly, and Merrill could only shrug.

“I guess I don’t really have one,” she mused. “Should I?”

“Just because we’ve all had to be subjected to hearing ‘Kitten’ from day one does not put you under any obligation to reciprocate, Daisy,” Varric laughed. “It’s so cute how you thought you were friends.”

“I honestly never even thought anything of it,” Merrill smiled shyly. “I just assumed that’s what what she calls her friends. I didn’t realise I was special.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still working on _that_ one,” Isabela responded quickly, and Hawke couldn’t help the small “aww” that escaped her lips, grateful no one else appeared to notice it.

“Gross,” Varric laughed, and most of the room just looked at him to shake their heads. “Anyway, coffee’s brewing.”

“Anyone want to join me outside?” Hawke spoke up, suddenly feeling strangely stifled.

“I will,” Varric answered. “You guys can all serve yourselves, right?”

“Asshole,” Fenris added with a smirk as Hawke and Varric moved to pick up what they needed and make their way out to the balcony.

They sat down and lit their cigarettes, and after a moment passed and it seemed certain no one else would follow, Varric smiled.

“So you and Blondie? I hear that’s an actual thing now?”

Hawke shook her head, but her wide grin betrayed her. “Yeah, it is. Well, I mean, it’s a _thing.”_

“And? How’s it feel?” Varric took a drag from his cigarette and casually rested his other arm over the table as he sat back.

“Good. Terrifying. You know.” Hawke punctuated the thought with a puff of her own, and Varric sighed playfully. “What? There really isn’t much else to say about it. Sorry to disappoint you, I know.”

“Well, you _did_ look a little jealous of Daisy and Rivaini back there, you know,” he retorted, and Hawke just rolled her eyes.

“Not…jealous,” she responded a little too quickly. “They’re just really cute together, is all. Besides, Anders and I know exactly what we’re doing. That is, we know exactly that we have _no fucking idea_ what we’re doing.”

“You know what, Hawke,” he chuckled, “I think you’re gonna be alright.”

“If you say so,” was all she could think to say in return, and she let her mind wander to looking forward to the night ahead.

***

“I am so glad we get to do this on a weekend,” Hawke said aloud as she started on a songbook. “Look at me, all grown up and responsible…”

Aveline laughed with a nod. “I know, right. This was a smart move on their end, honestly. I’m sure they’ll gather more business during karaoke on a Saturday than a fucking _Wednesday.”_

Any further commentary was cut off by the sudden blare of music and Isabela’s regular introduction. Everyone had already put their songs in, except for Aveline and Fenris of course, and Hawke was more pleased to be there than she truly felt she had any right to be.

It had been a strange day and she had recently come to learn how nice it was to be able to go out without having to worry about interfering with the next day’s responsibilities, so that along with the latter part also meaning all of her friends could be there made the reason behind her enthusiasm clear, but she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it still. It dawned on her that it might be because she’d never been so genuinely excited in her life, that perhaps this feeling was less so about the situation itself and more about the sense of normalcy that accompanied it. She shrugged to herself at the idea, deciding not to think too hard about it.

Anders had been the first to turn in his selections, so he was again the first among them to be called to the stand.

“I know you’ll like this one,” he said to Hawke quickly before taking his place by the booth, and she turned towards him with a delighted curiosity, and she recognised that he was right the moment the music began.

_“In a sea of faces, in a sea of doubt, in this cruel place, your voice above the maelstrom…”_

“Andraste’s tits, Blondie’s as subtle as you are, Hawke!” Varric laughed beside her, and she punched his arm in response. “What?”

She didn’t answer, and awkwardly turned back into the table for a cigarette, still carefully shifting her eyes towards Anders.

_“I hear you calling, Marian. Across the water, across the wave. I hear you calling, Marian. Can you hear me calling you to save me, save me, save me from the grave? Marian…”_

He didn’t stare at her the way they each had during their songs the last time they’d been there, which was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. She reminded herself that it was likely he just needed the lyrics screen, given how karaoke usually worked, but the content still hit her. There was an intensity to it that she couldn’t imagine was completely intentional, but it felt strangely right at the same time.

_“Marian, there’s a weight above me and the pressure is all too strong to breathe deep, to breathe long and hard, to take the water down and go to sleep, to sink still further beneath the fatal wave. Marian, I think I’m drowning. This sea is killing me…”_

She assumed she must have thought too hard about the contentment she’d felt just minutes before as she felt it rapidly slip away. Her mind briefly flashed to the first morning she’d woken up in his apartment, to his talking in his sleep and how grateful he’d seemed to have her there, but she then also pondered how long it might be before he was able to talk about it. She wondered, too, how he’d been sleeping. Or even how he’d been eating since their dinner. She suddenly felt like too much of their budding relationship already revolved around her. She tried to push away the thought.

“Look at that,” she heard Varric say, although he sounded distant. “Fuck-me eyes.”

She heard Merrill laugh, Fenris groan, and Aveline sigh. She assumed he had to be talking about either Anders or herself, but she wasn’t sure which and she was suddenly in no mood to investigate. She hated the way her mind had decided to carry her away from where she was, and she hated the way she could only seem to fall into it, curse herself for not better expecting it. She continued absent-mindedly puffing away at her cigarette, more going through the motions of simply finishing it than actually smoking.

_“Was ich kann und was ich könnte, weiß ich gar nicht mehr. Gib mir wieder etwas Schönes, zieh mich aus dem Meer. Ich höre dich rufen, Marian. Kannst du mich schreien hören? Ich bin hier allein. Ich höre dich rufen, Marian. Ohne deine Hilfe verliere ich mich in diesem Ort…”_

“Is that Ander?” Aveline spoke up. “Fitting, I suppose.”

“Does he actually speak Ander?” Merrill asked.

“I don’t know,” Aveline replied. “Do you know, Hawke?”

“Hmm?” Hawke shook her head slightly, taking a second before she actually heard the question. “Oh, umm, I don’t know, no.”

She took a long drag, nearly hitting into the filter, and reached into the ashtray with an even longer exhale.

“You okay?” Varric asked her as quietly as possible amidst the music and the crowd, and she shrugged.

“I don’t really know,” she answered honestly, and Varric nodded back. She knew she’d just damned herself to having her drinking even more closely monitored than it already would have been, so she simply tried to remind herself that wasn’t necessarily the worst thing for her.

Still, she downed the remainder of the whiskey sour that had been previously been nursing when Varric was called up next, and Anders grinned upon taking his seat back next to her.

_“Fortune, fame, mirror vain, gone insane, but the memory remains…”_

“So which one of them told you my favourite band?” She forced herself to laugh with the question, and Anders followed suit, albeit with more sincerity.

“Varric,” he confessed. “So you approve?”

“Definitely,” she smiled, and her smile widened when Norah returned to the table.

“Another round for everyone?”

“Yes, _please,”_ Hawke answered swiftly, and she wasn’t sure if she imagined Norah’s brief glower before she turned away to fill the order.

“So we were wondering, Anders,” Aveline chimed in after a moment. “Since it was in the song, do you speak the language of your namesake?”

“Only very little,” he replied. “I studied it in the Circle for a while when I was young because why the fuck not, right? When I got a bit older, though, I got a bit angrier and decided I didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. I haven’t really retained much of the actual language, but I can still pronounce it well, so I just decided to go with that one because I could.”

“That was almost my name, you know,” Hawke added thoughtfully. “Marian, that is. My father liked it, but my mother won out with her pick in the end.”

_“Like twisted vines that grow, that hide and swallow mansions whole, and the dim light of an already faded prima donna…”_

“Hmm,” Anders smiled, and it lit up his face so completely when he did. “I can see you as a Marian. I like the name you do have, too, though.”

“Thanks,” she replied quickly. “Maker knows it suits me.”

“Yeah, well,” he laughed, and it made the tension she’d felt lessen slightly.

_“Heavy rings hold cigarettes up to lips that time forgets…”_

“Hey!” Hawke exclaimed abruptly when Isabela popped over to the table. “I thought _I_ was supposed to be second in line!”

“You were,” Isabela smirked, “except you two nerds had to choose songs from the same band, because _of fucking course_ you did, so you left me no choice but to mix it up.”

“Aww, come on,” Hawke whined jokingly, and Isabela shook her head laughing.

“Not my fault,” she said playfully. “Kitten’s next, then me, and then you.”

“Fine,” Hawke sighed, and Isabela moved over to Merrill, planting a quick kiss on her lips before heading back to the booth, and the second round of drinks arrived just after.

_“And can’t the band play on? Just listen, they play my song. Ash to ash, dust to dust, fade to black…”_

“So when are you going up, Aveline?” Merrill asked cheerfully after Isabela departed.

“Ask me again in a couple more drinks,” Aveline chuckled. “I’m sure Hawke will talk me into doing something terribly embarrassing with her at some point.”

“You bet your ass I will,” Hawke said with a smile, to everyone else’s apparent amusement, before taking a long drink.

_“Dance, little tin goddess…”_

She felt lighter again, and again she tried not to actually give any real thought to how she felt lest she inadvertently push any possible contentment away again just by being aware of it. She briefly debated between picking up a songbook to start looking with her inevitable duet with Aveline in mind and genuinely asking Anders about how things were going, but she didn’t get a chance to decide.

Her focus was pulled instead by a small wave from a strange man who had just walked into the tavern. She instantly realised that he was somewhat familiar, so she shot him a quick nod even though she couldn’t place where she may have known him from. He looked around for a second himself, as though contemplating talking to her, but he backed off when Hawke subconsciously leaned in closer to Anders, and that was when it struck her like a blow.

It was the man from the tavern by the Docks, and she blinked hard at the rush of panic that accompanied her recognition, and when she opened her eyes again she was sitting on the floor of the restroom holding her knees against her chest and clutching a broken glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least according to Google, the German (or Ander, haha) verse from "Marian" translates as: _"What I can do and what I could do, I just don't know anymore. Give me something beautiful again. Drag me from the sea. I hear you calling, Marian. Can you hear me calling? I am here alone. I hear you calling, Marian. Without your help I am lost in this place."_


	23. Sisyphean Sunderance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: blatant self harm, references to rape/PTSD, dissociation, alcohol abuse(ish?), panic
> 
> ["Yellow Flicker Beat" by Lorde](http://youtu.be/3PdILZ_1P74)   
>  ["Flawless" by Beyoncé](http://youtu.be/IyuUWOnS9BY)   
>  ["Some Kind of Stranger" by the Sisters of Mercy](http://youtu.be/5ILpBKetj7E)   
>  ["Platinum" by Orgy](http://youtu.be/NDs8hsCGVOs)

_“I’m a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm. And the scars that mark my body, they’re silver and gold…”_

Hawke could hear Merrill start her song through the tavern’s thin walls, stiffly crouched in her spot at the corner by a sink, propped uncomfortably against a stall, and she hung her head sullenly, staring at the floor.

_“My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones; it keeps my veins hot, the fire’s found a home in me…”_

She didn’t even remember leaving the table, and she cursed herself aloud upon thinking that she had actually believed for a moment there that she was getting herself together, that there had been real potential for a perfectly normal, enjoyable night out.

_“I move through town, I’m quiet like a fight. And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie…”_

She dropped the glass she’d been holding as she tried harder to maintain focus on her surroundings. She quickly pulled down her sleeves once it fell, suddenly aware of the fact that both of her arms were bleeding. It wasn’t actually very much, but it was still there and the origins were obvious, even if she didn’t remember doing it, and she muttered another curse under her breath when she balled the ends of the sleeves into her hands as they clenched into fists, and then another when she heard the door creak upon accompanied by the sound of her name.

_“And now people talk to me, but nothing ever hits home; people talk to me, but all the voices just burn holes…”_

She willed herself to look up, to look at Aveline as she knelt down in front of her.

“Hawke…”

“Get Varric,” she said quickly, practically hissing, before she could stop herself. Even those words burned in her throat and it felt raw coming up, and then heavy with the sensation that they didn’t so much carry through the air but fall straight down onto her chest, leaving their burdensome weight to just sit there, threatening to restrict her air.

She was immensely grateful that Aveline did not question her request, however, and only nodded before standing and leaving the room.

It was as though no time had passed when Aveline returned, Varric in tow, and she took in a deep breath to try to quell her shaking.

_“I dream all year but they’re not the sweet kinds, and the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time…”_

“Hey,” Varric said softly, and Hawke only blinked at him with a poor attempt at a nod.

_“People talk to me, I’m slipping out of reach now; people talk to me and all their faces blur, but I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison and I’m locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me…”_

Hawke let her knees relax a bit but held herself back from doing anything with her hands. She suppressed her strong urge to move them between her legs, as though she might be able to use them to physically push away the sudden throbbing pain of the bodily memory that had been left there by the stranger’s.

“Hey,” she finally said back hoarsely, and she swallowed hard. “Did you, umm, did you see that one guy who came in…”

“Dude with the wandering eyes and the creepy linger?” Varric asked bluntly, pausing when Hawke nodded. “Yeah, I saw him. He went straight to the bar after your weird look exchange, but he’s been shooting some nice death glares at Anders, and I honestly don’t even want to know what kind of fucked up shit goes with the way he’s watching Isabela. You know him?”

“Get him out,” she answered through gritted teeth. “They listen to you here, right? Talk to Norah or Corff or whoever or…whatever, I don’t care what you tell them. Just make sure he leaves and that he doesn’t come back. He can have all the shitty dives around the Docks his little heart desires, but he cannot fucking have _this.”_

She shook her head harshly as she finished her thought, and when she looked back to Varric and Aveline she saw the understanding wash over their faces.

“Stay here, I’ll fix this,” Varric said casually yet firmly before he promptly walked out, and Aveline swiftly sat down on the floor beside Hawke.

_“Bow down, bitches…”_

Hawke heard Isabela’s voice carry enthusiastically through the door, just loud enough as it shut behind Varric to briefly draw all her attention to it, and she thought to herself bitterly that at least there was apparently still fun to be had for some of them.

“Hawke, hey,” Aveline said, and Hawke leaned to the side to rest her head on Aveline’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re all here for you, and you know damn well that if anyone can get someone banished from the Hanged Man on their word alone, it’s Varric.”

“Yeah,” Hawke nodded. “I know.”

“He’d better work quick before anyone else finds out what’s going on, though,” Aveline almost laughed. “I would hate to get fired so soon after my promotion, but if there’s a murder here tonight I _will_ have to look the other way.”

Hawke smiled at that, and nodded gently against her friend. “I suspect they’d do more than simply fire you for that, you know.”

“Well,” Aveline shrugged. “Like I said, Varric had better just be quick.”

“You guys are the best,” Hawke said lightly, trying her best to ground herself to Aveline and to the knowledge that the situation was being taken care of as she took another deep breath.

“Yeah, we are,” Aveline replied with a small laugh before her taking in a long breath of her own. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

_“You wake up flawless, post up flawless…”_

“Everything okay, Hawke?” Merrill asked as stepped in. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but Anders asked me to check…”

“I’m fine, Merrill, tell him I’m fine,” Hawke answered quickly, and she could swear she felt the face Aveline made at her before she looked up and saw it for herself. “Or, umm, I will be. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

“Tell Anders,” Aveline started before the door opened again.

_“I woke up like this, I woke up like this…”_

“Tell Blondie to get with the times and check up himself,” Varric laughed upon his return. “And for the record, I’m _officially_ un-gendering these things whenever it’s my call.”

“Well?” Hawke looked up at him immediately.

“That was fast,” Aveline smiled. “Good news, I hope?”

“It’s done,” Varric smirked. “Leave it to the old Tethras charm.”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke sighed as she began to push herself towards moving to stand. “No, really, what did you say?”

“I just told Corff to get rid of him. I said he was a skeeze and he was making some of the other patrons uncomfortable, and that’s just bad for business. No need for specifics.” Varric just shrugged, and Hawke felt the pressure in her chest ease a little. “I think he knew there was more to it, but even so, he didn’t ask for details. They like us here, remember?”

“Fair enough,” Hawke answered softly, having made it to her feet.

“Shall we, then?” Aveline asked as she stood up as well.

Hawke started to nod, but hesitated. “He is gone, right? You didn’t just talk and then report back? He has physically exited the building?”

“Yes, he's gone,” Varric assured. “He only put up a little bit of a fuss about it, too, surprisingly enough. So, you know, something tells me this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to leave a tavern. Norah escorted him to the door herself, and I even had her snap a picture of him for reference when Corff went to talk to him. It’s safe now, promise.”

“Okay,” Hawke said quickly, and the four of them made their way back to their table.

_“Ladies, tell ‘em, say ‘I look so good tonight.’ Goddamn, goddamn…”_

Isabela was actually dancing, and it made Hawke smile, even as she took her seat and was instantly startled by Anders’s hand on her shoulder.

“Trista, are you—”

“I’m better now,” she interrupted, still a little shaky. “I’m pretty sure I’m still next, so…”

“Trista,” Anders’s brow furrowed in concern, and Isabela’s announcement of her name didn’t help as much as she hoped it would.

“I’ll talk about it, I swear,” she told him as she stood up, and Varric caught her attention before she properly started making her way up.

“Do you want me to…”

“Yeah. Yeah, do that.”

She awkwardly cleared her throat and tugged at her sleeves a bit more, even though both were still held firmly down as far as they would go, and then she grabbed the new drink that had presumably been ordered for her before she finally made it to take the microphone.

_“And yes, I believe in what we had but words got in the way. And only yesterday as I was leaving, lord knows I’ve tried to say, but I’ve seen a million conversations going where they’ve been before, seen the way that careful lingers undecided at the door…”_

She watched Isabela step over to the table to talk to Merrill, and that Varric and Aveline were whispering among themselves, which she could only assume meant she was the subject. Anders was watching her, and with every bit as much worry on his face as there had been before she’d gotten up, and Fenris was carefully watching Aveline and Varric as though he was anxiously waiting to find out just what had actually happened.

_“All I know for sure, and all I know for real, is knowing doesn’t mean so much when placed against the feeling, the heat inside when bodies meet, where fingers touch…”_

Anders’s attention was drawn by Varric, and Isabela even took a chair, and everyone leaned in while Varric and Aveline spoke.

_“All my words are secondhand and useless in the face of this. Rationale and rhyme and reason pale behind a single kiss. And I’ve heard so many things I fail to understand at all, I’d settle any time for unknown footsteps in the hall outside…”_

She took the chance given by the instrumental break to rapidly chug down her third whiskey. Looking at the table again as she then belted out the repeated chorus, she was certain all of her friends were too wrapped up in their conversation to even notice, although she thought she saw Anders’s eyes briefly shift back to look at her, but she couldn’t be sure.

_“Because the world is cruel and promises are broken. Don’t try to tell me anything, don’t try to tell me you’ll be true to me, you know the real truth is never spoken…”_

She regretted not having any of her drink left just as much as she realised she regretted the song choice. She’d picked it simply because it was one of her favourites, but if she’d have known how tense the evening’s mood would become, she probably would have gone in a different direction, and something about that thought especially hurt.

_“And I know the world is cold but if you hold on tight to what you find, you might not find too much, though, even this must pass away. And memories may last for years but names are just for souvenirs. Some kind of angel, let me look into your eyes. Don’t give me whys and wherefores, reason or surprise, I don’t care for words that don’t belong. And I don’t care what you’re called, tell me later if at all. I can wait a long, long time before I hear another love song…”_

Her friends nodded back and forth at each other, and one by one they all leaned back. Isabela stood up but still lingered, and Fenris and Aveline seemed to continue talking while Anders looked back to Hawke, who was suddenly the most self-conscious she had ever been at a karaoke night.

_“Come here, I think you’re beautiful, my door is open wide. Some kind of angel, come inside. Come here, I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful, beautiful. Some kind of angel, come inside…”_

She belted the words so aggressively she was practically shouting them, trying to lose herself to it and not have to think about the fact that people were watching her, even though that didn’t typically bother her.

_“Come here, I think you’re beautiful, my door is open wide. Some kind of stranger, come inside. Come here, I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful, beautiful. Some kind of stranger, come inside…”_

She felt oddly raw repeating the lines until the end of the song, but by the time she finished she determined it was exactly the catharsis she’d needed, even with the strange wave of exhaustion that hit her when she made her way back to her friends.

“Another please,” she said when she sat down, as Norah had reached the table at the same time to collect their empty glasses. Norah of course looked to Varric, and she only mimicked his response when he nodded his approval.

“Thanks, Mother,” Hawke laughed once Norah walked away, and Varric just shook his head.

“You’re welcome, darling,” he replied with a sarcastic smile, and Hawke laughed harder. “What?”

“What?” She shrugged, still laughing but unable to come up with an actual reason why.

“This is for the broody one who refuses to sing,” Isabela said into the microphone from her booth, indicating the song that was starting and the apparent break in karaoke, to which Fenris rolled his eyes with a smirk.

_“You can’t escape what makes you tragic, you know. Vicious ‘cause you want to be, leaving time possessed to please you. What might have been was never the way you envisioned things, so difficult to stop pretending…”_

“Glad to see my nicknames are finally catching on,” Varric chuckled.

“Yes, yes, Varric, very good,” Fenris teased back. “Fenris broods, an astute observation. Next up, water is wet.”

“Ooh, burned,” Varric grinned. “I might need to look into that water thing…”

“These are the assholes I choose to love,” Aveline added with a playful sigh, and Hawke’s laughter grew louder again.

“Trista,” Anders started, but she didn’t look at him. She could see him in her peripheral vision, could just barely see the way his eyes crinkled as he tried to catch her attention, but instead of acknowledging him she reached for her cigarettes, and she kept all of her focus on the simple task of lighting one.

_“Look away for now, beautiful alone…”_

She realised she was actually starting to feel what she’d already had when her fourth drink arrived and she hastily took it. Varric caught Norah and whispered something to her before she walked off again, and Hawke guessed that meant it would be her final beverage of the evening, and for some reason she just kept laughing.

“Hawke,” Varric spoke up again, keeping his tone light despite the worry evident in his voice, a subtle inflection with which she’d recently become painfully familiar. “What the fuck, your tolerance is usually way higher than this.”

She choked on the smoke she’d just taken in as another burst of laughter came forth, and she quickly brought up her forearm to cover her mouth as she descended into a coughing fit.

_“Something painful’s got you, dear, makes me want to be with you…”_

She barely managed to compose herself to the point where she could finish her drink, and when she set down the glass she realised Anders’s hand was on her shoulder again, that he had turned to look directly at her, and that her the sleeve had somehow rolled up just enough to expose her fresh cuts.

She felt everyone’s eyes on her and felt another wave of panic incoming. She thought Anders might have been trying to speak to her, but she suddenly couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her heart and the harsh unsteadiness of her breath. She’d stopped laughing, and she felt as though all ability to do so had been sucked straight out of her.

The next thing she knew she was wearing her jacket and her bag, and she was being led out of the tavern by Anders, his arm locked around hers, and the next thing after that was that she was back in his clinic and screaming.


	24. Of Yesterdays and Tomorrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self-harm, PTSD/referenced rape, dissociation, panic, alcohol, vague eating disorder implication
> 
> ["More" by the Sisters of Mercy](http://youtu.be/ykw-X75LnAc)

Hawke woke up alone in Anders’s bed. Her limbs were painfully stiff from the way she’d curled into herself, and as she slowly began trying to stretch them out she noted the bandages around her arms, although she assumed anything he might have done with her wounds was more of an overprotective precaution than an indication that any of them had actually been too serious.

Slowly but surely she willed herself to get up, the sounds of cracking joints accompanying her every movement, and she nervously walked out into the main room, where Anders was sitting on the couch with a coffee and his laptop, wrapped in a blanket.

_“And I need all the love I can get, and I need all the love that I can’t get, too…”_

She chuckled a little to herself at the thought that at least his computer’s speakers sounded better than his car’s, and he immediately turned towards her.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Care to join me?”

“Of course,” she answered hoarsely, her throat sore, and the feeling was only exacerbated when she tried to clear it.

“Coffee?” He asked, and he instantly stood at her nod. She moved to turn towards the kitchen, but he waved her down. “Have a seat, I’ll grab you a cup.”

_“Do you get scared to feel so much, to let somebody touch you? So hot, so cold, so far out of control; hard to come by and harder to hold…”_

Hawke sat down and tugged her sleeves back down as far as she could, and it made her feel better somehow. Anders returned promptly with a mug of hot coffee in hand and passed it to her as he took back his seat and turned off the music by shutting the computer.

“Thank you,” she whispered before taking her first sip, and she felt her eyes light up automatically from the caffeine when she did.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled gently and leaned back into the couch. “So, umm, I think it goes without saying that we need to talk about last night.”

“Yes,” she agreed and blew into her mug before she took another drink. “Yes, it does.”

She took a few more sips from her coffee, and the silence between them was daunting, but she felt it had less to do with the actual silence itself than her tossing words around inside her head, not really knowing where to start or what to say. The atmosphere on its own was strangely still, almost comforting, and she took a second to appreciate that before she spoke up again.

“Are you okay?” It seemed as good a place to begin as any, even if she knew it wasn’t what he had in mind. All the same, her concern for him over the situation was genuine, and it was clear he saw that when she turned to make eye contact. She couldn’t help but note how tired he looked, even by comparison, how sad. She thought how it wasn’t the first time she’d looked into his eyes to see them glazed and bloodshot after she’d had an episode, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “I don’t know how much was explained, but I can’t imagine any of that mess was easy for you to handle in any case.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he answered honestly, and she was grateful for it. If any of the rollercoaster that had been the past two weeks had taught her anything new, it was how much she absolutely hated people walking on eggshells around her, even when she had to admit it was to her benefit. She smiled softly with an understanding nod, and he continued. “I don’t think it was for anyone, but…”

His voice cracked a little as he trailed off, and Hawke instinctively moved a little closer to him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoed and picked his mug back up. “It’s been years since I’ve been so angry, actually.”

Anders paused when Hawke automatically slumped her shoulders forward and her legs began to rise, subconsciously moving to fold into herself.

“Not at you, of course,” he added quickly, emphatically, but she put her cup down to loosely hug her knees anyway. “I just…I hated it. I fucking hated seeing you like that, knowing the reason why had just slipped out of there. I can’t say I’d actually have done anything had I known in the moment but Maker, how I wanted to hurt him. To be completely honest, I think Fenris wanted to go looking for the bastard, but Aveline seemed to get it through what a bad idea that would’ve been. Although I’m actually a little concerned Isabela still might.”

“I guess I kind of forget how short a time we’ve known each other,” Hawke sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think that _of course_ you’d never seen me lose my shit quite like that before. And I’m even sorrier that there is no way I could try to assure you that you won’t see it again. In fact, I’d say it’s a promise that you will, and I completely understand if—”

“No, Trista,” he cut her off, the intended end of the sentence obvious, and she set her legs down and went back to her coffee when he did. “It’s not like I don’t know from my own experience that these things happen. I knew I’d see something like it sooner or later, and I do already know it will happen again, just like I know it’s only a matter of time before you end up seeing it from me. Sure, you scared me last night, I won’t deny that, but I’ve seen enough, _been through_ enough that I won’t scare _away_ so easily and I’m not giving up, don’t worry about that. It’s just terrible to see someone you care about so much go through it like that and know there’s nothing you can really do except be there to see them to the other side of it, and I am sorry that if you keep me around long enough, it’s just as much a promise you’ll see it again from this end. I mean, fuck, you already sort of have, and you handled it beautifully. I’m here for you, Trista. So please, your turn. Talk to me.”

“Fuck, I hardly even remember any of it,” she admitted. “I didn’t even have that much, at least not for me, so it wasn’t that. It’s more that I, well, I just panicked and I sort of lost myself here and there, like I kind of disconnected, or disappeared from my own head or…you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I do,” he nodded.

“If I’m being completely honest, I was already feeling kind of…off, I guess, because I actually _wasn’t_ feeling off for once before, you know?” She laughed a little at herself, at how absurd it sounded to her to say out loud, even as his chin moved again to imply his understanding and she realised that she was also recently learning that the more she talked, the easier talking became. “So really, something was probably gonna happen no matter what, since it’s clearly too much to ask for my brain to just shut the fuck up and let me enjoy something. What _did_ end up happening simply made it easier, I suppose. I swear, though, one of these fucking days we’re _actually_ going to finish out a damn karaoke night.”

“We will,” he assured with a gentle smile she couldn’t help but believe. “What do you remember about last night, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Arriving, talking, singing. I remember you nailing one of my favourite songs.” She flashed a sincere grin at him, which he returned. “I know Varric at least saw I wasn’t quite there and he was already a little worried, but then Scumbag McCreepy came in and I just remember feeling almost like my mind fucking imploded. I don’t recall anything from there until Aveline found me. After I came back out, you tried to talk to me but I had a song, then after that, suddenly…well, I imagine that’s what drowning feels like but somehow everything was funny, and then you guys saw my arms and then we were here, or downstairs, and I think I was yelling at you? Oh Maker, did that happen? Umm, sorry about that. And now, this. Sound about right?”

“That’s, umm, honestly a lot less than I’d have guessed you remembered, actually, but…yeah, sounds about right.” Anders’s brow furrowed and he set down his empty mug, and she finished her coffee and did the same when he reached towards her to pull her in, and she wrapped an arm tightly around her once she had her head rested against his chest. “Although, to be fair, argue you didn’t have that much all you like, but you were _definitely_ feeling it by the time we got here.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that one,” she sighed. She absent-mindedly ran her hand up and down his side, and her brain sparked when she felt the blanket that rested behind him and tugged on it. “Anders…you didn’t sleep out here, did you?”

“No, don’t worry,” he replied quickly, gently. “I just woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I came out here and tried to make myself comfortable.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “You weren’t having those dreams again, were you?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugged.

“You could have woken me,” she offered, a tinge of guilt to her voice.

“No, I couldn’t,” he answered with a small laugh. “It took so long for you to get to sleep yourself, I wasn’t going to disturb you.”

“So, what, you stayed up all night with me and then just suffered alone in silence when you could at the very least have had some company?” She couldn’t help but take a strange offense to the gesture, even if she knew she should appreciate the thought behind it if nothing else, and a part of her suddenly wanted to break away but instead, without even thinking, she moved her arms over him and pulled him closer to her. “Please, Anders, you should know I wouldn’t have wanted you to do that…”

“I know, Trista, I…” He tilted his chin downward to kiss the top of her head before his grip tightened around her. “You had a rough night and I’m not sorry I wanted to let you rest. I _will_ try to keep that in mind for next time, though, alright?”

“Alright,” she agreed. “What did happen after left the tavern? Maker knows I’ve done a piss poor job of avoiding the clinic like I’d wanted…”

She chuckled a little to herself, trying to laugh about it in an attempt to keep her mind from racing too much, and she felt him nod at the same time he let out a similar, albeit much quieter, sound.

“There _was_ a lot of yelling, you were right about that. You weren’t really yelling at me, though, if that makes you feel any better. Void, most of the time there weren’t even words. Eventually you let me clean up your arms. Your cuts were all fairly shallow, fortunately, but I felt better to take care of them than leave anything to chance all the same.” He paused when she nodded, an odd sense of relief following as her suspicions on the matter were confirmed. “We came up here and by that point you were just sort of going through the motions, so it seemed a good idea simply to go to bed. You are, by the way, at least if last night was any indication, a _very_ affectionate drunk.”

“Oh no,” she started with a small smile.

“Don’t worry, just cuddly,” he laughed. “Which made it easy to try to be comforting when you started panicking again, actually. That was really it until you fell asleep, so it’s probably not even as bad as you were thinking.”

“It certainly isn’t,” she responded gratefully. She wasn’t yet entirely sure what to make of the whole thing still, but he was right that she’d feared much worse. She lifted her head from his chest and sat back up to look at him, and she took his cheeks into her hands when she caught his eyes again. “But you, umm…Anders, you look like you’ve been crying.”

“Damn,” he laughed. “I really thought I was going to get away with that.”

“Anders…” She cocked her head to the side as he lightly shook his, his gentle smile warming his face.

“It was a rough night for everyone, Trista,” he said after a moment. “But it happens. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know I do, though,” she answered solemnly.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I know. But umm, hey, do you…would you like to go out, get some breakfast?”

It was exactly the right thing to make her feel better, and she could tell he knew it, that he only brought himself to make the suggestion for her sake, but she decided not to question it, to simply be grateful he was willing to make it at all. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

So they got themselves together and made their way out, and she was certain as they left the building that he didn’t even yet know where exactly they’d be heading, but as they left to start their day she felt that suddenly, somehow, it was enough.


	25. Keep Calm, Move Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: general anxiety, sort-of mentions of character deaths and dysfunctional family, but there's honestly nothing too much in this chapter
> 
> This update is definitely a shorter one, and it is mostly for establishing time. I decided it finally needed to jump a little for the purpose of story progression, considering the previous chapters took place over only 15 days, haha, so…yeah, here we are.
> 
> ["The Man Who Sold the World" by David Bowie](http://youtu.be/HSH--SJKVQQ)  
> ["Suffragette City" by David Bowie](http://youtu.be/CEkXAHIKdKI)

A little over a month had passed since the incident at the Hanged Man, and the time had gone by unnervingly fast. 

The good news was that it was in large part because things had certainly calmed down a little. Work, Kirkwall Crew, and even karaoke nights did not take long to become routine, and it seemed the practically continuous flow of earth-shattering events which those two weeks where it had felt like everything decided to happen had held finally found itself at an ebb.

Hawke wondered to herself many times if this was what complacency felt like, and the fact that she was growing comfortable with the way things were going still sat awkwardly with her, and the ever-present need to tell herself not to dwell too critically on a good thing was nothing if not an ongoing battle. With her newfound routine, however, also came welcome distraction, which at least somewhat eased the pressure she couldn’t help but hate herself for feeling.

She and Anders were still regularly spending time together, but they were reluctant to make a point to have the occasions become any more frequent, just as they still adamantly refused to put a label on what their relationship was or what that meant. This continued to come as a great disappointment to the rest of their friends, but neither of them were ready, so it seemed, to take any further steps towards the obvious, or at least what everyone else deemed as such.

Hawke had officially started contributing to rent for the apartment, at which point she and Aveline met with the landlord to renegotiate the lease and add her name to it. She had to admit that it felt really good to take that step, and she’d even taken Aveline out to a Fereldan-style gastropub which a friend of Lirene’s had recently opened up in Darktown to celebrate afterwards.

Aveline had been strangely on edge, though, and Hawke was unable to place a reason for it. She was continually reassured it had nothing to do with her, but the timing of the mood shift still ate away at her as much as she tried to trust in Aveline and push it aside.

“No, she hasn’t said anything to me about who’s apparently been pissing in her coffee either,” Varric had said over dinner one night. He and Hawke had gone out to celebrate, as well, that time the occasion being his romance commission being accepted as a series, which also meant he would soon be preparing his down payment on the Hanged Man. “Maybe keep not saying anything about _Swords and Shields,_ though, just to be safe.”

“You’re calling it _Swords and Shields?”_ Hawke had laughed, shaking her head. “Just when I thought this whole thing couldn’t sound even more ridiculous…”

“It’s a medieval fantasy,” he’d explained, only to Hawke’s further amusement. “Our dear heroine, Messere Totally-Not-Aveline, is a weapon-and-shield warrior, but the title also serves as a metaphor for trust issues and pushing people away and…you know what, it works if you actually read it, okay? Just trust me.”

“Yeah, lips definitely still sealed,” she’d smirked, and as far as any of them knew word of it had not yet reached Aveline.

A few days had passed since then, and many thoughts raced through Hawke’s mind as she left Lirene’s for the week. Fridays after work had come to mean that for her, as the impending weekend meant time to herself, to do what she wanted to do and even spend more time trying to sleep, which all also meant more time with her own head.

She was, however, undeniably grateful to sit down once she boarded the bus for Hightown. One of the perks of working for such a small business was the hours, certainly, and she greatly appreciated having off nights and weekends. By that same token, however, it also meant the last couple of hours on Fridays were always a mad rush, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she took her seat and put in her earbuds, pulling up David Bowie’s full discography and hitting shuffle.

_“We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when. Although I wasn’t there, he said I was his friend. Which came as some surprise, I spoke into his eyes…”_

She caught herself wishing Anders could have met her father, listening to the musician they both loved so much. He would’ve loved Anders, too, she was sure of it, even if the idea felt somewhat odd within the still ill-defined parameters of their relationship. She reminded herself that was how she wanted it, too, but she cringed to herself a little upon the rising concern that the more she thought about it, the less she believed it.

_“Who knows? Not me. I never lost control…”_

It had occurred to her to bring it up while she was out with Varric the other night, but she felt too guilty about interrupting his good mood to follow through, and she didn’t want to bother Aveline with anything short of an emergency until she was doing better, or at least she knew why she wasn’t doing well to begin with.

_“I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home. I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed. I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here; we must have died alone a long, long time ago…”_

Thinking about it, she reluctantly opened her phone back up and went to her text messages to select Varric’s name, and she then typed and deleted and re-typed her message four times before sending.

_Hey, you. I need some best friend advice. Coffee soon?_

It was simple and seemingly harmless enough, she determined, and she quickly shoved her phone back into her bag after closing the screen.

_“Hey, man, oh leave me alone, you know. Hey, man, oh Henry, get off the phone, I gotta. Hey, man, I gotta straighten my face, this mellow thighed chick just put my spine out of place…”_

She smiled softly despite herself as she got lost further in her own thoughts.

“Only you could feel so fucking angsty listening to this,” she whispered to herself, decidedly unconcerned with whether or not anyone else on the bus may have heard.

_“Oh don’t lean on me, man, ‘cause you can’t afford the ticket. I’m back on Suffragette City. Oh don’t lean on me, man, ‘cause you ain’t got time to check it. You know my Suffragette City is out of sight. She’s alright…”_

She hopped off the bus once it reached her stop, briefly picking up her phone again but swiftly tossing it back away after a quick glance indicated she hadn’t received any new messages, and then made her way down the couple of blocks to her apartment.

_“Oh wham-bam, thank you, ma’am!”_

She couldn’t help her smile again as she was momentarily caught by a memory of she and her father listening to that song when she was a child, how they always had to shout that line together, and she thought of the two of them dancing around the dining room of their tiny home in Lothering to it while her mother just watched them fondly, how she’d always laughed so cheerfully.

She still hadn’t spoken to her mother at all since Bethany’s funeral. She knew she wasn’t ready and her friends all insisted that was okay, but she shook her head at the pang of guilt that accompanied the thought anyway.

Hawke turned off the music at that, and let herself into an empty apartment. She put down her bag and walked automatically to the kitchen, where she immediately spotted a note taped to the coffee maker.

“She knows me too well,” Hawke chuckled aloud as she picked it up to read. “‘Hawke, sorry for employing such archaic methods of communication, but my phone died and I was in a hurry. I’m having dinner with Anders, so you can contact him if you need me for anything. I’ll explain when I get home, I promise. Love, Me.’ Well, fuck me, Aveline, what in the Void is going on with you?”

Obviously concerned but unwilling to bother them for it, she again thought to trust her friend and simply put on a pot of coffee instead. Once that was ready, she poured a cup and took it out to the balcony, where she sat down and lit a cigarette, fighting anxiously with her mind while she waited.


	26. One Foot in Front of the Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of character deaths, general anxiety
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke had fallen asleep on the couch by the time Aveline made it home.

She sat up with a start at the sound of the apartment door snapping shut, and Hawke gazed sympathetically towards Aveline before she took it as a cue to to join her on the couch.

“Maker, Aveline, what time is it?” Hawke asked with a yawn, genuinely uncertain if it was actually that late or if she’d simply really been that tired.

Aveline picked up Hawke’s neglected phone from the coffee table to glance at the lock screen in response, and then sighed heavily as she leaned back into her seat after setting it back down. “It’s just after midnight. A bit early for you, isn’t it?”

Hawke quickly turned to look at her, and Aveline also adjusted herself accordingly. An almost playful smile punctuated her question, but Hawke could see how forced it was. She took a deep breath, suddenly aware of quite how much the door had startled her, and donned her own best assuring smile, prepared her most compassionate tone of voice. “That it is. But since it _is_ still a little early indeed and I just got that lovely accidental nap in, I suppose I’ll probably be up a while yet. So, what’s going on?”

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately,” Aveline answered hesitantly.

“Such as…?”

“Oh, Andraste’s tits, I sound like you now, don’t I?” Aveline smirked briefly at Hawke, who could only nod with a small laugh. “Just…Wesley. It’s about Wesley. I mean, well…Donnic and I are about to reach a milestone and things are definitely really serious and that’s genuinely _really_ great, but as we’ve been making plans to figure out what we want to do to celebrate our anniversary, all I can fucking think about is _Wesley._ Honestly, Hawke, is that awful of me? Because it feels awful.”

“I strongly suspect Anders already answered that question, and accurately,” Hawke replied softly.

“Anders really is wonderful and all,” Aveline chuckled slightly, “but I think I also just kind of need to hear it from my best friend right now.”

“You’re _not_ awful,” Hawke responded firmly, meeting Aveline’s eyes. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but we both know Wesley would have wanted you to keep moving forward like you have, and Donnic has been good for you. The fact that you keep Wesley’s memory so close speaks well of him, and I’ve no doubt he’d appreciate that, just as much as he’d appreciate you doing what you need to do to find happiness. He’d want you to be okay, Aveline. Just like I do. Just like we _all_ do.”

She reached towards Aveline and wrapped her arms around her, and Aveline gratefully fell into the embrace. 

“And you know,” Hawke added, “you can always talk to me. This whole friendship thing’s supposed to work both ways, is it not?”

“I know,” Aveline said solemnly. “I guess I just didn’t know how. Anders is the closest thing to good professional help you can get around here, so talking to him just felt like a necessary first step. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“You did,” Hawke smiled, “but I can’t reasonably say anything about that, now, can I?”

“Not even a little bit,” Aveline teased as she sat up and leaned back into the couch. “Anders, though…he’s lost someone like that, too, hasn’t he?”

Hawke brought up her legs and drooped her arms over her knees, taking a moment to figure out her response. Aveline was an impressively astute observer, and it had always made her a difficult person to lie to or sneak around, and Hawke suspected it was part of what made her so good at her job, even part of what had earned her promotion. At the same time, however, if Anders still hadn’t been able to talk about Karl with Aveline after she had spent the evening venting to him about Wesley, she didn’t feel right being the one to bring it up.

“It’s really not my place to say,” she decided was the best answer. Honest, albeit an affirmative in its own right, but still minding her place, respectful of a story that was not hers to tell.

Aveline nodded sympathetically, seemingly understanding of the obvious implication as well as the actual reply itself. “That’s fair, I won’t press it further. It just makes me all that much happier to see you two together, then. Or, well, at least as much as we do.”

“Yeah, same here,” Hawke deadpanned, immediately cringing at her unintended tone. It was then that she moved to reach for the coffee table, that she thought to check her phone for any potential missed texts from Varric, and she hoped Aveline wouldn’t catch the blatant deflection to distraction, even if she knew better than to think that might truly be possible.

“Everything alright?” Aveline asked promptly as Hawke pulled up her messages to see that Varric had, in fact, replied.

_Mmkay, Hawke, what did Blondie do? Lol. Sure thing, let’s get lunch at the Minanter tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at noon._

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawke said as she rapidly texted back to confirm their plans, then catching Aveline’s knowing stare as soon as she set her phone back down. “I mean, I don’t know. One crisis at a time, okay?”

“With the company _we_ keep?” Aveline actually laughed. “That’s a nice dream, huh?”

Hawke shook her head with a small laugh of her own. “Alright, valid point, but it’s honestly not even _really_ a crisis. I’ve just been thinking too much, myself. You know, like I do. So I’ll meet up with Varric tomorrow and he’ll make fun of me for worrying, and then that ought to be that. So you just take care of yourself for now, okay?”

“Fine, Hawke,” Aveline smiled. “I’ll trust you on this one. Just know that I _am_ always here if you need me.”

“Believe me, I know,” Hawke nodded. She opened her mouth to speak again, a sudden question at the forefront of her mind, but she paused for a second. She promptly opened her mouth again, though, opting to allow herself this. “So how was your dinner with Anders, anyway? How, umm…how is he? I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

“Oh wow, yeah, I guess you have been home a lot this week,” Aveline said thoughtfully. “I honestly hadn’t even realised.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Hawke quickly made a point to note.

“Thanks,” Aveline flashed an appreciative grin before continuing. “It’s a bit hard to say as we didn’t really have much of a conversation. I moreso talked _at_ him than with him, actually, now that I think about it. When he did chime in, it was just reassurance and support, nothing personal from his end or anything, and we stayed on topic the whole evening. Of course it was still obvious to me that a lot of what I had to say hit close to home, although I’m sure most wouldn’t have noticed and he likely has no idea that I did, but it was there all the same. So it might not be the worst idea for you to check in on him if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Yeah,” Hawke replied quietly. “Yeah, I will.”

There was a silence that followed for several seconds, and then Aveline huffed to herself a little before she spoke up again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m going to make us some tea, does that sound good? I picked up some cookies from that bakery you love the other day, too.” Hawke stood up to head towards the kitchen, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that Aveline was apparently, for once, going to refrain from protesting her deflection. “Tea, cookies, and maybe a movie?”

“I’d love that,” Aveline said sincerely. It wasn’t often that she had an issue that could take priority over whatever Hawke was dealing with at any given time, and Hawke was incredibly grateful it appeared she was going to let it. “I finally bought Fury Road. You still haven’t seen that one, right?”

“No, I haven’t! Yeah, let’s do that,” Hawke shouted back from the pantry. She heard Aveline get up and head to her bedroom at that, and then enter the main room once again, presumably with her copy of the film in hand. Hawke put on the kettle after she’d grabbed everything she wanted from the cupboards, and despite all the concerns still running through her head, she felt strangely content with the way the night was ending as she reached for mugs.


	27. Turn the Tables, Erase the Floorplan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: general anxiety, excessive/escapist drinking
> 
> Alas, return to proper angst. But given the source material, it honestly just felt strangely wrong not have Anders make Hawke work a little harder for him to eventually really learn to let her in.
> 
> ["Under the Gun" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/U0i_uKUJCUI)   
>  ["The Same Deep Water As You" by the Cure](https://youtu.be/ZA-RUfE1MOg)

Hawke and Varric took a seat at a booth along the back wall of the casual little Nevarran hole in the wall Varric had picked for lunch after placing their orders up front, and he apparently did not want to waste any time getting to the heart of the matter.

“Okay, so, this _is_ about Blondie, isn’t it?” His tone was, as usual, meant to be playful, but it had a note of caution to it, that same little inflection she’d by then heard more than enough of to last her several lifetimes.

“I mean…” Hawke sighed deeply, already frustrated with herself for even so much as bringing it up, however vaguely, to begin with. “Yeah, it is, but maybe it’s just me? Maker, I don’t know, I’m probably just being stupid.”

“Well,” Varric said, drawing out the word as he leaned forward and crossed his arms over the table. “I will _happily_ be the judge of that. Talk.”

“Ass,” she laughed with a roll of her eyes.

“You know you love me,” he smiled back.

She realised she was wringing her hands beneath the table and thought to attempt to steady them, but she immediately decided she didn’t really care.

“I guess I just don’t actually know if I should even really think anything of anything, you know?” She paused in case he might have a verbal response, or even to watch for any kind of reaction, and she continued when none came. “Knowing me I’m probably just reading too much into it, but he’s felt distant over, well, maybe the past couple of weeks now. I’m not really sure what I expected, but it feels strange how little time we seem to make for one another. If anything, I think we’ve started seeing less of each other. I mean, I could mention it myself, yeah, but I’m sort of afraid to push? And I mean, we do go out here and there on our own still, of course, but it honestly feels more like we’re friends with benefits at this point and I suppose I’ve just been hoping for more of…a progression? Is that the right word? Maker, I don’t know…and fuck, now I’m just rambling…”

“Hey, you’re fine,” Varric assured gently. “You _are_ at least taking into account how very fucked up you both are, right?”

“Of course,” Hawke answered without hesitation, and how quickly she replied caused Varric to chuckle under his breath. “Andraste’s ass, I knew this was silly of me. Do you think it’s possible he’s more afraid of…whatever than even me?”

She stopped fidgeting so she could rest her elbows on the table, and she automatically sulked her head against her hands.

“Listen, Hawke,” Varric said seriously. “I don’t actually know too much about Anders’s past. He doesn’t really talk about it but it’s pretty fucking obvious he has good reason not to. I have no real idea what kind of shit he’s been through, but even just knowing how many years he spent locked up in a damn Circle points firmly in the direction of _things that are super fucked._ Probably things that, honestly, just fucking break a person. So yeah, he very well might be. It definitely wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Hawke sighed, hoping the sincerity was apparent enough. “I think that might actually be exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Any time,” he smiled. “Trust me, stories are my thing. Sure, I haven’t quite filled in the blanks on his, but I can get the gist. He’s a tragic fucking case, that’s for damn sure, but I don’t think I have _ever_ seen anyone look at another person the way he looks at you.”

Hawke just laughed at that, and Varric smiled in return.

“I don’t know, though,” she said after a moment. “I mean, I’ve seen Merrill and Isabela…”

“Yeah, so have I,” he answered promptly. “They’re disgusting, true, but I still don’t think even that’s quite the same.”

“Well, wow then,” Hawke nodded. “If you say so.”

She didn’t actually believe him on his last point, of course, but the sentiment was enough to ease her mind at least as much as it could be.

“Maybe I’ll see if he wants to get together tonight,” she added. “You know, actually try to have a real talk with him about my feelings. At least, that’s what stable grown-ups are _supposed_ to do, right?”

“So I’m told,” he replied with a smirk as their food arrived, effectively ending the conversation as it was.

***

Hawke sat cross-legged on the rickety bench beside the shady hipster café by the clinic, listening to music and chain smoking while she waited for Anders to text her back.

_“You don’t have to say you’re sorry to look on further down the line. Into the sun, too close to heaven, love is fine…”_

She’d had Varric drop her off in Darktown but didn’t actually reach out to Anders until she got there. She’d said she just happened to be in the area and that it would nice to see him if he was free since she was already around, and she figured she would simply tell him the truth once they were face to face. As she lit her third cigarette since sending the text, however, she started to worry if she should have considered the “if” as a possibility over the “when.”

_“Two worlds apart and two together, into that goodnight kiss away. One takes the hand, one the other. Kiss away…”_

She took out her earbuds as she picked up her phone, hitting pause as she removed them from the audio jack as well, deciding she’d waited long enough for a reply that it wasn’t inappropriate to call. She gritted her teeth a little, however, after it rang only three times before going to voicemail.

“Hello, you have reached Anders, but I’m afraid I am unavailable to take your call at this time. If this is an emergency, please try again as many times as it takes. Otherwise, feel free to leave a message or to simply hang up and text.”

She smiled a little to herself at the fact that his cat was audible in the background, distant meowing filling space every few words, and she tried to hold onto that, to make sure she sounded less concerned than she felt after the sound of the tone.

“Hey, Anders, it’s Trista. I texted you since I’m in your neck of the woods and it’s honestly no big deal, but I haven’t heard back so I thought I might try this way, but I guess your phone is off or something? Anyway, I’ll stick around a little longer just in case, and either way I’ll definitely talk to you later. Give Pounce a scratch for me! See you.”

“Ah fuck me,” she added to herself in a whisper as she replaced her headphones. “Although I suppose that could have been far worse…”

She took a long drag of her cigarette and began fidgeting her legs, and then hit the play button again.

_“Are you living for love? Are you living for love? When the road gets too tough, is your love strong enough?”_

Three rings was too many for his phone to be off but not enough for a proper missed call and she knew it, yet she still found herself trying to push away the realisation that it was therefore most likely he had actually selected to ignore it. She picked up her phone again and simply stared at it. She thought of texting Varric for further advice, but she genuinely wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever he might have to say.

_“Do you feel your head is full of thunder? Questions never end? Empty nights alone? No wonder it all comes back again. Are you living for love? Are you living for love? I’ve been under the gun. I’ve lost and I’ve…”_

“Fuck it,” she muttered to herself, and she once again detached her ear buds to make a call.

For a second time it went to voicemail after three rings, and she thought that at least perhaps that meant he was considering answering.

“Anders. Trista. Okay, now I’m worried. I’m sorry, but are you…are you legitimately ignoring me right now? Fuck, does this make me the world’s biggest hypocrite? Yeah, probably, but hey, please, are you alright? Anders, what’s going on? I’m still nearby. I want to see you. If nothing else, will you at least be at the Hanged Man tonight? Please get back to me. Fuck, I’m sorry, I just…I need to know you’re okay, okay? Okay. I love you. Bye.”

She ended the call and went back to music, and in that same second she felt the wave of horror wash over her as she realised what she’d just said, superseding even what she already felt to be the cringe-worthy tone of the message, with how obvious the rising panic in her voice had been.

“Shit,” she exclaimed aloud, grateful she couldn't see anyone around who might have heard her, and she flicked away the end of her cigarette only to light her fourth.

_“Forget the many steps to heaven, it never happened and it ain’t so hard. Happiness is a loaded weapon and a short cut is better by far. Explosive bolts, ten thousand volts at a million miles an hour. Abrasive wheels and molten metals, it’s semi-automatic, get in the car. Corrosive heart and frozen heat, we’re worlds apart where we could meet…”_

“Okay, alright,” she whispered as calmly as she was able, staring intently at her lap, at her legs as they shook up and down from her frazzled nerves. “Fuck knows if he’ll even listen to it, right? Or at least when? Fuck, what do I do now? Do I stay or do I get the Void out of this place before he can decide he does want me to come over after all? Should I ask Varric? No, I should not ask Varric. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

From the very edge of her limited peripheral vision she noticed that someone was walking past her, a catch which forced her to stop talking to herself, however quietly she at least hoped it may have been.

_“The first are last, the blessed get wired, the best is yet to come. I put my finger on and fired, heat-seeking, out of the sun. You can set the controls for the heart or the knees, and the meek’ll inherit what they damn well please. Get ahead, go figure, go ahead and pull the trigger, everything under the gun…”_

She kept telling herself, albeit silently at that point, that she could very well be over-thinking again, that it was entirely possible none of this was actually a big deal, even her mortifying slip of the tongue. Somehow that only made her that much more determined to stay and wait it out until Anders got back to her, for once as ready as she ever could be to confront a fear as soon as possible and get it out of the way so she could move forward, whatever that might entail. Although she wasn’t sure if it made her feel better or worse about the situation at hand, she knew she meant what she’d said. Despite her difficulty reconciling that against the short amount of time which had passed, she couldn’t deny that much, so she simply sat with it.

_“Kiss me goodbye, pushing out before I sleep. Can’t you see I try? Swimming the same deep water as you is hard, the shallow drowned lose less than we. You breathe the strangest twist upon your lips and we shall be together, and we shall be together…”_

She shook her head as she went for her cigarette only to realise it had been burned to the filter, so she flicked it aside and lit another without a moment’s hesitation. She decided that it was too late for an attempt at good decisions, and she again reached for her phone to give Aveline a heads up that she had no idea when she’d be home, and her phone buzzed just in time for her to see the notification pop up when she did.

_Sirry. I cant rigjt now. Dpn”t._

Immediately upon reading Anders’s message, she again willed herself to cast aside all instinct and call him for a third time.

“Tris?” Anders drawled out quietly, and she was certain the sigh of relief she emitted over him finally answering was obnoxiously audible.

“Anders!” She uncrossed her legs as quickly as she could manage and promptly rose to standing, automatically turning herself towards the clinic. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m, umm, gonna make it out tonight,” he answered, his words slurring just enough for her to notice. “Be sure to tell Iss...Isabela sorry for me.”

“Anders, have you been drinking?” She easily recognised the careful inflection of one straining to keep their speech coherent through a drunken haze, interwoven with the way he drew out each word as well as the occasional failure. “Anders, I’m coming over. I can see your building from where I am, I’ll be there in about a minute. Are you able to come down to let me in?”

“Yessss, I ca—no, _no,_ I can’t,” he sharply corrected himself.

“Can’t or won’t?” She’d moved into something of a jog, aiming to close the distance between them as rapidly as possible, despite the logical argument that she had no idea when or even if Anders might actually let her in.

“Trista. Tris. Trista, no. You don’t want to see me like this.” He placed a harsh emphasis on every single syllable, obviously trying to get his words across as clearly as he could, and the sadness in his voice felt like it pierced straight through her.

“Anders,” she said again, briefly wondering why she apparently felt the need to keep repeating his name like that as she approached his front door. “Are you by yourself? I don’t think you should be alone right now, okay? Besides, you’ve seen _me_ like this before, it’s only fair.”

She tried to offer a lightness to the general tone, even making herself smile as she spoke, but all he gave her in return was silence.

“Anders,” she said again after several seconds had passed, this time much gentler. “Anders, please.”

After a few more seconds wherein neither of them spoke, she remembered that he always left the clinic door unlocked, so she tossed what remained of her last cigarette and let herself in, taking a seat in the waiting area. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, although he sounded reluctant to do so. “Yeah, I’m, umm, I’m here. Are you?”

“I’m downstairs, Anders. I’m inside but I’m still going to need you to let me up. Can you do that, or do I need to call Varric? Has he ever mentioned that he’s _very_ good at picking locks? Because Varric is very good at picking locks and he _will_ come if I ask him to.”

“O-okay,” he sighed. “I’ll be…right down.”

“I’ll meet you at the door, Anders, okay?”

Almost as soon as she finished her thought, she was met with the sound of Anders ending the call, so she stood again to walk to the back room, sending a quick text to Aveline to still make sure to tell her she might not be back for a while on her way there.

It was roughly a minute before she made it to the door, and maybe another two before it opened. Anders did not look nearly as bad off as Hawke had worried he would, but he was certainly disheveled. The circles around his eyes were slightly darker than she’d seen them before, and the presumably soft fabric of his loose t-shirt and sweatpants practically seemed to absorb cat hair, leaving a light dusting of orange exceptionally prevalent over the all-black of his attire which she couldn’t help but find endearing even through her concern.

Without a word she stepped forward, and he took the cue to turn around and head back up the stairs. He was steady enough on his feet, at least, and it didn’t take them much longer than usual to reach the door his apartment. He fumbled a bit with the key he’d held tightly in his fist, and she nearly offered to help but he made the connection and ushered her inside just before she could.

He made a seemingly automatic beeline for the couch, crashing down hard onto it, and she heard the jingle of Pounce bolting out of the room as he did.

It felt natural, the way she immediately hung her jacket on the door and sat down next to him in her normal spot, setting her bag next to the couch and taking off her boots to rest them with it, as though she belonged there. She pulled up her legs, loosely crossing them once she turned all the way to the side to look at Anders, unsurprised when he did not reciprocate.

“Alright, Anders, will you please explain to me why you’re day-drinking all alone and trying to ignore my calls?” Hawke sighed to herself finishing the question, at the abrasiveness of her tone, shaking her head a little. “Sorry, I’ve never been on _this_ side of this. Please, though, Anders…”

“I’m just tired,” he said shakily after a moment. “Trista, I’m…I’m sorry. I’m just so fucking tired.”

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” She placed a hand on his arm, gently moving her thumb up and down, and judging by the way his face started to relax it had the calming effect she was hoping for.

“Thiiiiiiiiiis morning?” His inflection implied uncertainty, and Hawke squeezed his arm without thought. “I don’t know, I think I’ve had a few hours…here and there over, uh, the past few days.”

“Did something happen?”

Anders shook his head, and then immediately pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. She didn’t believe him anyway, but she knew from experience that pushing the matter right then wasn’t going to get them anywhere for the time being.

“Come on,” she said as she stood up and reached to take his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Trying to seduce me?” Anders attempted to laugh, but his deflection fell flat and after a few seconds that felt like ages, he finally took her hand and stood with her.

She kept a firm grip on his hand during the short trek to his bedroom, letting go only to pull back the covers on the bed just enough for him to slip under them. 

“Will you stay?” He sounded so small, and his voice wavered slightly, and there’d have been no way she could have declined, even if she hadn’t already been planning to anyway.

 _“Of course_ I’m staying, Anders. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” She watched as his eyes began to flutter closed, watched the outline of his legs from beneath the blankets unsteadily move to curl up as close against his chest as he could bring them. “I’m just gonna step out for one minute to grab my phone so I can let Aveline know where I am, okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly. “B-but don’t…don’t tell her about this.”

“I won’t,” she assured. “She just worries whenever I don’t check in, is all. Maker knows I’ve given her good reason to, so, well, y’know.”

“She loves you so much,” Anders drawled out, but it sounded more the result of exhaustion by that point than excessive alcohol consumption. “That’s nice.”

“She does,” Hawke agreed thoughtfully. “And a lot of people love you, too. You know that, right?”

A moment passed in silence, and she thought for a second that perhaps he’d fallen asleep, but then he groggily spoke up again, so quietly she might not even have heard had she not been so intently listening for a response. “I got your message.”

“We’ll talk about that in the morning, alright?” She sighed almost inaudibly to herself, shaking off the dread that accompanied the thought, determined to see Anders through this as easily as possible, to keep the focus on him. “I’m going to go send that text now. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Just as she said, she walked back into the main room, past the sound of another abrupt jingle, and pulled her phone from her bag. She quickly texted Aveline, telling her only that she was at Anders’s and they had decided to stay in for the night, and then put it back, not even bothering to take anything with her. When she returned, Anders appeared to have fallen asleep, Pounce resting against his knees.

She took the liberty of picking up a previously discarded pair of pajama pants and t-shirt from the floor by the hamper, deciding she didn’t care enough to question how badly they actually needed to be washed, that she could simply ask him later if that was okay to do, and swiftly changed into them before crawling into bed herself. She wasn’t particularly tired, really not at all, but she didn’t know what else to do given that there was absolutely no chance she was willing to leave his side under pretty much any circumstance. He shifted a little when she pulled the covers back over herself, pushing himself a little closer, and she reciprocated the effort, pulling him tight against her and wrapping one arm over him.

“I guess I’m the big spoon tonight,” she whispered playfully, unsure if he’d even hear her, but she was almost positive she felt him nod in response.

Time passed indistinguishably from there, and Hawke did her best to keep her mind on Anders, on every occasional shake of his breath or sudden twitch of his body, trying to find the line between staying present with him and worrying herself sick. Eventually, somehow, sleep caught up with her, too, and when she woke in the morning it appeared that they had barely moved at all throughout the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on a huge Sisters of Mercy kick lately, so it seems that's also applying to Hawke. Oops, haha.
> 
>  _Also,_ Anders's part of this chapter is now available written from his perspective [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7276348).
> 
> On a side note, I can be found on Tumblr as [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) if anyone wants to be friends.


	28. Help Is a Four-Letter Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: eating disorder (that kind of ended up being the central theme of this chapter, honestly), with brief references to institutionalisation and nightmares
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke’s head rested firmly between Anders’s shoulder blades, her arms around his waist keeping him close and pressing her nose against the slight protrusion of his spine, and her first thought upon waking was to wonder how something could be simultaneously so difficult and so easy as her time with Anders thus far had proven.

He mumbled incoherently when she yawned, and she softly whispered his name in question, but when he didn’t stir she assumed he was still asleep, and without thought she moved to pull him closer, hold him tighter.

That, however, was when he sat up with a start, tearing himself from her grasp with a ragged, panicked breath.

She quickly sat up with him, but she kept her hands to herself then, careful not to startle him further.

“Fuck,” he finally said after a tense minute. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…”

“It’s just me, Anders,” she reassured him, moving to literally sit on her hands to hold herself back from physically reaching out to him. “Do you need to talk? Or should we get some coffee first?”

“I’m guessing I can’t just say no to either case, then.” He forced out a laugh, but it was entirely without mirth, completely devoid of warmth, the sound of it utterly disconcerting.

“I won’t force you into anything you’re not ready for,” she conceded. “Answer me this, though. How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

She thought of the ridges along his back, where her head had rested just moments before, the sharpness of which contrasted harshly with the softness of his shirt, the feeling of how much she hated that she could still feel it through the fabric slowly creeping up on her with increased awareness as she began to properly wake up, at least as much as she could before caffeine.

“When did I last see you?” Anders’s question was also his reluctant confession, and he winced harshly when her hand appeared on his back as though of its own independent volition, as she had still been trying to force herself to allow him appropriate space.

“Wednesday,” she reminded him, and Anders seemed to grimace at how defeated she hadn’t meant to sound. “I thought you said that was getting better. What happened?”

She hated the accusatory nature of her word choices, although it didn’t feel like she’d chosen them at all. She briefly flashed back to an earlier conversation she’d had with Isabela, when she told her she knew they couldn’t fix each other, how Isabela had told her that was a good thing to realise, and in that moment it couldn’t have felt any further from the truth. She would almost have preferred to have the illusion just then, to pretend she really thought she could just snap her fingers and make this all go away.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, pulling up his knees and placing his head in his hands, continuing before she could interject. “Honestly, Trista, nothing happened. I think that’s the worst part. This is all just me.”

“Surely there’s something on your mind—”

“There’s _always_ something on my mind,” he interrupted bitterly, and her hand again moved of its own will, pulling back to wrap her arm around her own stomach as her other arm crossed over to follow suit, her position a vain attempt at curling in on herself to become smaller, a stark indication of just how vulnerable she suddenly felt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap…”

“I know…I know,” she sighed, and she wasn’t actually sure which one of them she was trying to convince. “I just…how do I help? Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, head shaking. “I’ve been so alone in this for so long, I genuinely have no fucking clue what another person can do.”

“You have friends, Anders,” Hawke replied gently. “No one else in the Crew has been able to help at all? Or Lirene?”

“I’ve never told any of them,” he admitted. “Really, Trista, you’re the only person who knows much of anything about me at all beyond growing up in Kinloch. Granted, I’m sure Lirene knows on some level, but I’ve never talked to her about it and so she’s never said.”

“Okay, well,” she thought for a second, desperately searching for where to take the discussion next. “You help people. That’s your thing, yeah? What have you done from the other side?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on the other side of this one,” he said quietly. “In the Circle there were special wards for it. I always managed to stay far enough under the radar with mine, although I can’t imagine they’d ever have made it a primary concern with _me_ anyway, so I never really encountered anyone else with it much.”

“Alright, then,” she nodded. “That just means I’m going to have to wing it. You do need to eat, still, so do you have anything here I can make, or would you like to go out?”

“Trista…”

“Anders,” she said sternly, channelling her best Aveline. “I promise I’m not going to push you unreasonably, okay? But you have to try. Please. For me?”

“For you,” he agreed as he pushed himself out of bed, and she decided she’d take it. “We’ll have to go somewhere.”

“It’ll be on me, then,” she smiled upon standing up herself.

“Thanks,” he offered half-heartedly.

She tossed the clothes she’d worn to sleep into the hamper along the wall, making quick of work of changing back into what she’d worn in while he fumbled through his own pile of what appeared to be fresh laundry, and she felt a strong wave of relief at the thought that at least he was taking that much care of himself, even if she would much rather he prioritise other things.

“So,” he yawned as he clumsily grabbed for a sweater. “What _were_ you doing in Darktown yesterday, anyway?”

It occurred to her that she wasn’t sure how much of the previous day’s limited discussions he’d actually remember, and a part of her wasn’t sure how much she’d wanted him to. She sighed heavily and sat back down on the bed while he slowly dressed himself, searching her mind for the right words.

“To be honest, I only came down this way because I really wanted to see you,” she stated matter-of-factly, nervous about the confession but unwilling to make the situation at hand any more awkward than it needed to be by unnecessarily avoiding the truth behind it. “It seems terribly silly of me now, of course, but I think I thought I was being clever.”

“That’s cute,” he replied sincerely, smirking at her a little with what she could only place as adoration in his eyes, or at least that’s what she hoped she was seeing.

“Yeah, well,” she chuckled softly, “I try.”

“Did you, umm,” he started, having managed his way into everything but shoes, but he paused to brace himself against the bedroom  
doorframe. “Did you still want to talk about—”

“Anders, are you alright?” Hawke stood up to meet him, and she could feel how shaky he was as he then moved to brace himself against her instead, and she held onto him tightly while she walked him over to the couch. She wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to be able to actually go for any sort of outing, even the kind that would help with exactly this, when it had apparently been four days since he’d last eaten anything. She figured it was a miracle at that rate that he’d been standing as long as he had.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he admitted just about when the thought had occurred to her, and she only nodded.

“Where are your keys? You stay here and I’ll go grab us something, okay? It’ll probably just be shitty hipster bagels again, I’m afraid, but I’ll run out and then we can go get something nicer for lunch. Does that sound good?” She hovered over him where he sat from the side of the couch, and she leaned down to gently kiss his forehead. “We can talk about whatever you want when I get back, I swear.”

“I think I left the key to the apartment on the nightstand by the bed,” he responded, reluctance waning. “That opens both doors.”

“Good, thank you,” she said softly as she quickly moved to the other side to grab her boots and her purse. “Do you have coffee I can make when I return, or would you like me to pick some up for us?”

_“That_ I do have,” he almost laughed, leaning as far back as he could and putting his feet up on the coffee table, and without another word she ran back to grab his key, silently thankful that it was indeed where he thought it might be.

“I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can,” she assured again, both to herself and to Anders, when she returned to the main room, pleased to see that Pounce had appeared on the couch beside him, clearly enjoying the scratches Anders happily provided, and then she bolted through the door as quickly as her feet would carry her.


	29. Miles and Miles and Miles and Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: eating disorder, discussions of character deaths, general depictions of anxiety and mental illness episodes
> 
> Angst, angst, angst. I'm so sorry, although it seems this story has moved back into "basically writing itself" territory. I swear, I'll make it up to them later.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke wasn’t gone for long.

She’d practically run from Anders’s apartment, hurrying down the stairs and through the clinic and out the front door with a swiftness she’d never have guessed her un-caffeinated morning daze could possibly have allowed for, keeping up a steady pace until she reached the coffee shop and immediately resuming it once she’d left to return to Anders.

She was relieved to find him exactly as she’d left him, relaxed with Pounce on the couch, resting with his feet up on the coffee table and the contented purrs of the tiny cat beside him audible as she rushed back inside.

She automatically dropped a bag right onto his lap, and she was grateful that he did not protest or hesitate but instantly reached in to pick up one of the large assortment of bagels she had purchased, however expectedly bird-like in the way he began to pick at it, but she understood that after nearly four days on an empty stomach, that was probably the wisest way for him to go about it anyway.

“I’m going to make coffee,” she stated as she set his key down on the table. “Where do I find…anything?”

He moved as though he was going to stand up to show her himself, but she promptly waved him back. “No, don’t get up, I’m on it. Just tell me where to look.”

“Fine, fine” he almost smiled. “If you head into the kitchen and look to your left, there’s a small pantry along the back wall. Coffee will be on a shelf somewhere around the middle. There ought to be a few different kinds, pick whatever you want. Coffee maker’s on the counter, I’m sure you’ll spot that one easily enough.”

“On it,” she answered quickly, barely taking the time to drop her purse by the couch as she made her way towards the fix she realised more and more with each passing moment just how desperately she needed. It must have been a pure adrenaline rush fuelled entirely by fear that had carried her so far already, but it was rapidly waning since she’d gotten him eating at least a little and the full weight of her concern started to subside as much as it could.

She reached the pantry and exhaled sharply, astonished that he could have felt any need to show her where to find what she was looking for. She spotted his coffee stash immediately, as the pantry was nearly barren aside from the few bags of various grounds he had. She wondered if he even knew how little was actually in there, involuntarily chewing on her bottom lip at the thought that he likely checked so infrequently he genuinely had no idea.

She didn’t even bother to look through the relatively sparse assortment, at least compared to what she had grown accustomed to living with Aveline, but simply picked up the first choice her hand touched and made quick work of putting on a pot.

“Cups?” She shouted from the kitchen, and she thought she heard him shift again, deciding not to risk the possibility that she was imagining it. “Don’t get up, just tell me.”

“Mugs are in the cupboard directly above the coffee maker,” he called back, and she let out a sigh of relief that he was letting her take care of him like this, even if his response was immediately followed by the jingle of a bell that indicated Pounce had decided to wander elsewhere.

“Got it,” she made a point to exclaim, just to further ensure he stayed where he was. “Do you want anything in yours?”

“Black is fine,” he responded, and she opted not to waste further time by taking hers that way, as well.

She returned to the main room as soon as the coffee finished and she poured what she’d brewed into the two mugs she had procured from the cabinet, placing them each down on the table in front of them before taking her place on the couch beside him.

He’d managed to eat almost an entire half of his bagel by then, and she nodded to herself at the sight while he slowly but surely continued to pick off little by little.

“Does it usually get this bad?” She wasn’t entirely sure if the question was appropriate, but she felt it was still good information for her to have.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t usually go this long, at least, if that’s what you mean. I actually do _try_ to keep myself in decent enough condition to be able to care for my patients, and not even being able to walk through my own apartment obviously doesn’t really lend itself very well to such things. I honestly can’t believe I let myself do that. It’s been a good couple of years since I’ve let it go quite to this extent.”

“Before you had the clinic, I presume?” Her tone was gentle, her goal from there solely to make him feel safe enough to talk to her as much as his ever present reservations would allow.

“Actually, it was within my second week here,” he admitted with an all too familiar self-deprecating laugh. “Right after I found out about Karl, I didn’t eat for at least a week. I was so upset, I could hardly do anything. Maker, it seems so ridiculous now, I hadn’t seen him in so long. Fuck, we’d only just begun communicating again at all. I don’t even know what I was expecting to happen if I’d reached him. A part of me probably thought it would be this beautiful reunion, maybe even that we’d be together again. I loved him so much back in the Circle, and I’m not sure that will ever go away, but looking back I don’t know if we would actually have rekindled our relationship as it was. I don’t know what it might have been like. I don’t know what I wanted.”

“Hey now,” she interjected between sips of coffee. “Losing someone you love is always hard. The details don’t necessarily matter.”

“Fair,” he acknowledged with a nod. “All I really did was work. If I wasn’t downstairs, then I honestly can’t even say. I didn’t have Pounce yet so it was just me. I don’t remember if I even had a television at that point. I probably _literally_ did nothing but lie in bed if I was home. In the clinic, though, I ran myself ragged. It was the only way I could get my head to shut off at all. Of course, it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with me. Lirene was around a lot the first month or so, helping me set things up, bringing in supplies and donations, and she was there when I finally collapsed. I barely remember her forcing everyone out to close up herself, except that I felt _so fucking guilty._ I really didn’t want to let myself get anywhere near that point again, just because I’ll never forget how awful that was, failing those people like I had. Yet here we are, apparently…”

“Good thing you’re not in the clinic, then,” Hawke said lightly, trying to be reassuring, but the sullen look on his face didn’t change, so she swiftly adjusted her approach. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to try to keep you from going this far again. I’m here now, Anders. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” he nearly whispered, and then he finally finished his last bite.

“Do you think you can handle another right now?” She knew the answer even before she asked, but she figured she at least had to try.

“I think I need a bit,” he replied, and Hawke simply nodded.

“At least drink your coffee,” she offered with a smile, and he finally set his feet down on the floor and leaned forward to take his cup from the table. He was still a little shaky, she could see that clearly as she intently watched him move, but she could also see that there was a marked improvement, and she relaxed into the couch after finishing her own drink.

As he started on his, however, the thought occurred to her, so plainly obvious she couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked already. “Anders, did Aveline trigger you?”

He sighed heavily, and she quickly removed her boots before pulling her legs up, slowly crossing them as she turned her whole body towards him and leaned to her side to look at him. It wouldn’t explain why he’d apparently forgone eating for all of Thursday, but from their time together she gathered one day didn’t necessarily warrant an explanation, as unfortunate as she found that idea, but it dawned on her that Friday and Saturday were unlikely to be chocked up to simple forgetfulness or poor self-care, that there must have been some sort of reason behind it.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he shrugged, and it seemed the thought legitimately hadn’t occurred to him either. “Well, fuck me.”

His expression conveyed disappointment, presumably in himself for relapsing as a direct result of trying to help a friend.

“It’s understandable,” Hawke said gently, and she reached forward to rest a hand on his thigh. “It happens to all us of. Of everyone we know, at least.”

“I know,” he admitted quietly. “But this is _supposed_ to be what I’m good at. I’m _supposed_ to be there, I’m _supposed_ to be the person everyone can come to no matter what. I’m _not_ supposed to react like this.”

“You’re only _supposed_ to be that person because _you_ put _yourself_ in that position,” she responded quickly, almost sternly, but with a pronounced softness to her voice. “And that’s incredible, Anders, it is. I can _never_ tell you enough how much I admire you doing what you’re doing, but you simply _can’t_ always be the rock among us, and that’s okay. You’re only human and we all understand that, we all understand that you’ve endured enough of your own shit, too. You’re _not_ the only one who wants to help their friends. Eventually you’re going to need to learn to let the rest of us be there for you, too.”

Anders looked as though he wanted to reply, perhaps even to argue, but he only went back to his coffee, words evidently failing him.

“Aveline knows about Karl,” she decided to confess. “Well, okay, she doesn’t _know_ know, but she knows you’ve had an experience that was similar to hers. She asked me about it and I didn’t tell her anything, but she figured out that you were upset by your conversation and the reason wasn’t lost on her. You _really_ shouldn’t ever try to hide anything from that one. It _never_ works, trust me.”

“Did it at least help? Talking to her, I mean.” He looked absolutely morose, and Hawke smiled a little at him, at how that would be his response.

“It did,” she assured him. “You know, maybe you should properly talk for once this Tuesday. I’m sure it would be good for you. Maker knows how much it’s helped me, and I certainly didn’t think it would _ever_ be possible for me to able to do this.”

“Yes, I know,” he almost laughed. “Trust me, you were fairly infamous among the Crew long before you ever walked through that door.”

“I’ve gathered as much,” she sighed playfully, happy to see the tone lighten around them, to see Anders let go even just that little bit more.

“I’ll try, Trista,” he replied, the sincerity behind the thought evident in his voice. “I promise you that I will at least try.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, and she quickly leaned forward to kiss just the tip of his nose, which earned her a real, albeit short, laugh.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Anders finished his coffee, and Hawke got up to refill both their cups once he had, emptying the pot of its then lukewarm remains.

“So,” he began with an awkward waver upon her re-entrance, pausing only to give her enough time to set their mugs back down and resume her position on the couch. “We should probably still talk about the…about the voicemail.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She took in a deep breath before reaching back for her coffee, managing to maneuver herself just right so she could grab it without turning away from him. “What is it exactly you’d like to say?”

She wasn’t sure how to approach the subject herself, and she couldn’t deny how nervous it made her that Anders was so set on discussing it. She downed the entirety of her second cup of coffee in one go and set it back down harder than she intended, but a wave of relief swept over her immediately once she’d done so and she saw Anders pull a second bagel from the large paper bag.

He didn’t answer right away, and he seemed as unsure how to put any of it into words as she was. He bit off a small piece and followed with a sip of coffee, finally exhaling audibly before he began again.

“I guess I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I just—”

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” she interrupted, her rising anxiety escalating the pitch of her voice just slightly. “Full disclosure, I hadn’t even intended to say it myself. I suppose that just goes to show, though, that I truly meant it. I don’t ever want to put any pressure on you, about anything, and Maker knows how strange this is for me, too, but…I guess I just want you to know that I do mean it, and wherever you want to go from there is entirely your call.”

The lingering realisation that he was not about to reciprocate her impromptu confession hurt even more than she could have anticipated, she couldn’t help that much, but she was sincere in her effort not to push him farther than he was ready for. She thought back to her conversation with Varric from the previous day, about how it seemed Anders came with even more baggage than she did, and she knew that he was right and that clearly had an impact on the progression of their relationship. So she tried to keep her focus on the logical aspect of his end of the conversation as it unfolded before them, and even on the hope that his inability to say it then didn’t mean he might not yet say it later. For as difficult as it was for her to do, she told herself, just as she had so many times about so many things since the events following Bethany’s death, that she had to try.

“Trista,” he started again, still with a slight shake in his inflection. “I’m not saying I don’t, believe me, but I…I need time, I guess. Fuck, I don’t know, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, Anders,” she said as convincingly as she could manage.

“Is it?” He looked down at his hands, and she was thankful that at least he was still using them to pick at his food. “Are _you?”_

“Ish,” she acknowledged softly. “I mean, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He gave her a nod that seemed to indicate he understood the sentiment, and for a moment she thought he might respond, but any potential follow-up was abruptly cut short by the sound of a buzzer.

“What in the Void was that?” Hawke asked as Anders immediately stood up and turned towards the door.

“Someone hit the emergency button downstairs,” he explained as he picked up his key from the table and immediately left the apartment, and she didn’t hesitate for a second to follow him down the stairs.

“I’m not sure you’re yet in any state to care for an emergency patient, Anders,” she exclaimed from behind him.

“I am feeling a bit better,” he shouted back, although they both knew that didn’t do much to ease her worry. “Besides, what choice do I have?”

She knew there was no sense in arguing with him, especially when she didn’t even have an adequate contradiction to offer. He was a doctor, after all, and the only one in the area who operated outside Chantry law, which made their hospitals every bit as expensive as they were oppressive. She realised she should have expected that he’d have some sort of on-call system in place, just as she knew there was no way she’d be able to talk him into putting himself first under such a circumstance, and she even knew it was wrong that a part of her wanted to.

She did not, however, expect to see the person who was behind the emergency call as they reached the waiting area.

“Fenris?” Anders asked aloud, his own surprise evident, as well. “Umm, how can I help you?”

“Anders, I…oh, hello, Hawke,” he replied, spotting her from the nearby hallway despite her effort to hang back upon seeing who was there. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, truly, but I…I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Are you hurt?” Anders appeared to be readying himself to step into doctor-mode, but Fenris shook his head.

“No, I just needed somewhere to turn, someone to…someone to talk to.” He was clearly distressed, and Hawke watched them cautiously, preparing to speak up about making her exit.

“Why don’t you come upstairs?” Anders asked after a tense second, and Hawke took that as her cue.

“Do you need me to go? I’ll need to go back up to grab my things, but…”

“No, please, don’t leave on my account,” Fenris spoke up firmly. “What’s upstairs?”

“That’s where I live,” Anders replied, a strange awkwardness to his answer, and Hawke was instantly caught off-guard by the exchange. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“I am not,” Fenris responded quickly, and at that the three of them wordlessly turned towards the back to head up the stairs.


	30. Breathe, Breathe, Blow It Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: abuse, brief eating disorder references, one very vague implication of self-harm
> 
> There is also a gun mention that's a little Jayne Cobb-esque, in case that makes anyone else uncomfortable (I just figured that's worth noting as guns make _me_ terribly uncomfortable, at least, but it somehow felt strangely fitting here).
> 
> Still an angst fest right now, and Fenris's backstory in this universe is further explained.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke gave Fenris her usual spot on the couch. It had never before occurred to her that there was only sufficient seating for two people at Anders’s, and that was probably moreso intended to leave ample room for one person plus one cat.

In fairness, his couch was rather large, but more in terms of plush than capacity. She and Anders were always more than comfortable on it and it was clearly intended to seat three people, but it still definitely did not look like three entire people could actually be entirely happy to sit on it all at once. So she sat down on the floor, on the side nearest Anders, after brewing another pot of coffee and serving it between what had become three mugs.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Fenris apologised again. “I tried to call and I realise I should probably have taken the hint, but…”

“Maker, Fenris, I’m so sorry,” Anders interjected quickly. “Shit, you know, I’m not even sure where my phone is right now.”

“I’ll check your room,” Hawke offered. She didn’t know why she felt so strange at the new scenario, although a small part of her assumed it might simply be related to the general tone of the conversation she and Anders had left vaguely unfinished before Fenris’s arrival.

“Thank you,” Anders replied gently, and she could see that she was not alone in her odd sense of awkwardness, so she hastily stood to search the bedroom, taking her own phone with her in case it could assist.

“Was I interrupting?” Fenris asked uncomfortably, his voice carrying from the main room well enough for her to overhear.

“I…don’t worry about it,” Anders answered, and she wondered if he knew or even thought about the possibility that she could still hear him.

“You’re obviously the priority right now,” Anders continued. “Would you like anything else? I have…shit, I suppose I just have Trista’s bagels, although I’m sure she won’t mind…”

“No, thank you,” Fenris responded solemnly. “I’m glad to see at least someone is trying to take care of you even when you cannot do it for yourself.”

Hawke bit back a hollow laugh, which was made even more difficult when Anders replied, “Am I really that obvious?”

The sound that came from Fenris was precisely the one she was making in her own mind as she glanced around the room, and she promptly moved to call Anders’s phone in the hope that at least she might see it light up even in the evidently likely case it was in silent mode, as well as the hope that the act might better draw her focus towards the task at hand as opposed to her inadvertent eavesdropping.

“You are,” Fenris followed, and Hawke began to case the area more thoroughly, sifting first through Anders’s pile of dirty clothes. “But I can see that you two care for each other a great deal, and I hope it isn’t out of line for me to tell you how pleased the whole Crew has been to see it.”

“Yes, well,” Anders said so softly she almost didn’t catch it, and she huffed petulantly to herself when she reached Anders’s voicemail without yet spotting the phone. “Umm, thanks. So, uh, anyway, what’s going on with _you,_ Fenris?”

Almost as soon as she called again, she managed to spot the light made by the incoming call, barely visible, but it peeked out from beneath the shirt that had been haphazardly tossed over it, which she quickly realised was actually her own doing, just enough for her to catch it.

“Found it!” Hawke exclaimed, cheerfully waving the phone in her hand when she returned to the tense silence between the two men glowering on the couch.

“Thank you, Trista,” Anders answered at once, and he simply placed it on the table in front of him before looking back up to Fenris. “Now…”

Fenris was generally a rather formidable presence, and Hawke would be lying if she ever tried to claim she hadn’t found herself fiercely intimidated by him at first. It usually took considerable effort to get him to crack so much as the slightest smirk, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him manage any more of a smile than that. She had quickly learned he had much more of a sense of humour than she’d expected, and that he was incredibly kind and caring, but at least in her experiences with him he regularly had difficulty letting go enough to show it. His eyes held the same haunted quality as Anders’s, except that Fenris’s exuded more a sense of anger as opposed to Anders’s sadness. He never wore anything that didn’t have sleeves long enough that he cut out holes for his thumbs, and his shirts always had the highest collars he could comfortably wear. She’d once overheard him telling Isabela that the only reason he didn’t wear turtlenecks was because he found them unnervingly restricting, and Hawke figured from there that he didn’t bother to work past it since the scars he apparently wanted so desperately to hide crept all the way up this face anyway, and she could only presume those harsh, jagged lines that were far different from the kind she was accustomed to seeing covered much more of his body than anyone should ever have to endure.

In that moment, however, while he sat nervously on Anders’s couch with his hands folded onto his lap and twirled his thumbs around each other, he appeared vulnerable, even afraid, and his breath hitched slightly just before he finally willed himself to speak about what had brought him there.

“I saw Danarius,” he forced out with a sharp grimace. “Or, Maker, at least I thought I did. Now I’m not even sure. I don’t know what in the Void he’d be doing in Kirkwall. I’ve always feared he might one day go looking for me, but how the fuck did he find me? _Could_ he have found me?”

“Who is Danarius?” Hawke hadn’t actually meant to voice her question aloud, and she realised then that she was still standing, hovering awkwardly around the coffee table, and she slowly sat back down in her previous spot on the floor beside Anders.

“Danarius is the man—if you can even truly call someone with so little humanity to them such a thing—who raised me,” Fenris explained without hesitation. “As far as I can tell, I was pretty much born into the system, and Danarius fostered me for the majority of my young life. I have no memory of it before him, at least. He’s a powerful Tevinter politician, and many of his followers believed it noble that he would take in a ward such as myself, but there was nothing noble about it. His position only made it so that no one would ever believe me were I to talk, a fact of which he liked to remind me frequently. He was never the father figure everyone thought him to be, he’s just a fucking monster. He took me in simply because he apparently wanted a servant and a damn punching bag, and that’s when he was being kind.”

Fenris practically spat out his words, and Hawke could see the way his jaw clenched painfully once he ended his speech. She knew by then, of course, that he’d been victim to unspeakable abuse in his past, but this was the first she’d ever learned any of the greater details of his circumstances.

“I’ve tried _so fucking hard_ to escape him,” he continued after a moment. “I keep to myself, I barely even allow myself any kind of internet presence, because I wanted to make it as difficult as possible for him to track me down were he ever so inclined. It’s bad enough I still have to live with him in my fucking skin. I’ve never told anyone this, but these scars everyone always stares at? Danarius’s way of marking what he considered his property, I suppose, and I have permanent nerve damage from them. They will never stop hurting any more than the fucking dreams that plague me every night of my life.”

“Can you talk to Aveline?” Hawke offered gently. “I mean, if he is here, do you think she’d be able to help you? I’m sure she could find you some kind of protection…”

“I had not considered it, but that is very kind of you to suggest, Hawke,” Fenris answered, his tone a bit softer. “Thank you.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Anders asked almost as soon as Fenris finished his thought, and Hawke felt a harsh pang of guilt at her gratitude when Fenris immediately shook his head.

“You put yourself at enough of a risk just by having this place at all, Anders,” he told him. “I will not add to that by potentially inviting this level of trouble straight to your door.”

“Are you safe, though,” Anders insisted, “if you stay in your own home?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Fenris admitted.

“I bet Varric would let you crash on his couch for a while,” Hawke spoke up again. “If push really came to shove, you’d be right above the tavern, so it would be incredibly easy to escape into a public place. That and, don’t either of you tell him I told you this, he also happens to have a very large and very illegal gun that he’s rather fond of. He calls it Bianca, it honestly gets a little weird. But seriously, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Do I even want to know?” Fenris asked with his standard subtle smirk.

“His brother was into some terribly shady dealings, which tended to involve associations with extremely unfriendly individuals,” Hawke replied matter-of-factly. “Varric preferred to stay out of his brother’s, umm, _business endeavours_ as much as he could, but he always was better at taking precaution than Bartrand…”

“But…Bianca?” Anders chuckled slightly past Hawke’s awkward implication, for which she was thankful.

“I don’t know that one, either, and I’m not sure I want to any more than you do,” she shrugged.

“Anyway, I again appreciate the thought, but I couldn’t impose on Varric like that,” Fenris added, looking down at his hands as he spoke.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Hawke replied without missing a beat, and Fenris seemed as though he was ready to protest, but he did not stop her when she reached for her phone to make the call.

“What did Blondie do now?” Varric greeted her as soon as he answered, and she could only hope that no one else in the room had been able to hear.

“Hello to you, too,” she laughed. “Anyway, you have a flatmate now. Fenris will be staying with you temporarily. Indefinitely, but still temporarily. That cool with you?”

“Yeah, sure, why not? The more the merrier, right? Just tell him to call me before he sets up shop,” Varric answered casually, expectedly unfazed.

“Will do,” Hawke responded cheerfully. “Thanks, Varric. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, bye,” he echoed, and she could swear she heard the teasing roll of his eyes as they ended the call.

“Well,” she looked back up towards Fenris, “that was easy enough. All he asks is that you give him a heads up before you come over.”

“That is more than fair,” Fenris nodded. “Thank you, Hawke. You, as well, Anders. You are good friends, both of you.”

“We try,” Hawke smirked, and Anders nodded in turn.

“I should probably get going,” Fenris spoke up again after a moment’s pause. “I’ll need to get my things together for my extended stay, and I have already taken enough of your time.”

“Not so fast,” Hawke promptly insisted, and she reached for her phone again. “I don’t think you should go _anywhere,_ much less home, on your own right now. Aveline will escort you for the time being.”

Fenris seemed to have resigned himself to Hawke’s newfound incessant need to help, and his acquiescence to her terms was made evident by the way he shifted back into the couch when he had clearly been just about to move off of it.

“Hey, what’s up?” Aveline answered, a slight edge of concern in her voice that Hawke had anticipated, but she certainly wasn’t about to address it just then.

“Can you come pick up Fenris? We’re at Anders’s.” Hawke impressed even herself with how straight-faced she managed to remain, and she suddenly completely understood why Anders pushed himself the way he did, even if she still didn’t necessarily condone quite his level of self-sacrifice on the matter. “I’ll let him explain it to you himself, but he needs to go home and then to Varric’s, and we are humbly requesting your assistance because reasons.”

“Is everything okay?” Aveline asked automatically, but quickly corrected herself. “Right, Fenris will explain later. I’ll be there in ten minutes. See you soon.”

Again Hawke ended the call and set her phone back down, and Fenris looked on in what appeared to be awe.

“Did she not even question?” He was obviously incredibly bemused by how willing his friends were to help him, even under such dire circumstances, and Hawke thought to herself that she very much hoped he would be alright with letting her give him a hug before he left.

“Nope,” she replied swiftly. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“I suppose I am still only just starting to get accustomed to what it is like to have friends,” he answered quietly.

“Shall I make us more coffee?” Hawke held back from noticeably cringing at herself upon asking, but she found she didn’t have anything else to offer and she was still longing to be helpful in any she could.

“That sounds good, thank you,” Fenris answered, and she thought he might even have understood, although she wasn’t actually sure how she felt about the prospect.

“Yes, thank you,” Anders added, and she was grateful Fenris didn’t seem to feel any inclination to ask why she was continuously taking such tasks upon herself.

She picked up everyone’s cups as well as her phone and took them into the kitchen, and no one spoke while she brewed another pot and hung back to wait for it. Once it was ready she again distributed it between the three of them and brought everyone’s drinks out to them over two trips, and they had just finished that round when Aveline called.

Fenris insisted they need not trouble themselves further, and bid Hawke and Anders goodbye before heading down to meet Aveline on his own. Hawke did give him a long, tight hug before he left, and she was relieved that he appeared to be as grateful to receive it as she was that he let her.

“Just when I thought everything was starting to quiet down,” Hawke chimed in with awkwardly feigned laughter once she and Anders were by themselves again, and she then moved herself back to the couch to sit next to him.

“Such is life,” Anders shrugged. “Thank you for all your help. I honestly don’t know if I could have handled that alone right now…”

The sharp sense of self-loathing Anders held over his confession was painfully evident, and Hawke reached for his hand without thought.

“I’m glad I was here, then,” she said softly with a squeeze, which he quickly reciprocated.

“Maker’s breath, I don’t know how I feel about how much better at this you are than me,” he tried to smile, to imply a teasing demeanor, but the attempt was entirely in vain.

“That’s not it,” she told him, making a point to stress her sincerity through her inflection. “I’ve just had some really great examples to follow.”

“Aveline and Varric, you mean?” He managed to actually smile a little at that, even though it was still far too easy to see through the fact that he genuinely could not see himself in her statement.

“Yes, them, too,” she said softly. “But I know you know damn well I’m talking about _you.”_

“Thanks,” he whispered, and she just leaned her head against his shoulder, once again annoyingly unsure of how to respond.

She was pleased when he moved to wrap an arm around her, to pull her closer towards him, and she couldn’t help but hum contentedly at the touch, at the softness of the most natural, uninhibited contact they’d had in what felt like far too long, even if she knew logically it had only truly been a matter of several days.

“Thank you, Trista,” he spoke in another sullen whisper. “For everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” she responded in a similar tone. “First of all, it’s my pleasure. And more importantly, I’m nowhere near done yet.”

“Well, still…”

She leaned over to kiss him before he could say anything else, as it was all she could think to do to convey the way she was feeling in that moment, wherein words simply could not be enough.

He pulled her in even closer as he returned the kiss, and she wished they could stay like that forever, but she was still grateful when a nagging reminder pushed her back.

“We should probably start thinking about what we want to eat,” she stated as firmly as she was able, despite wanting nothing more than to move back against him and forget about anything else.

“I guess it would be getting about that time,” he acknowledged with no apparent reluctance, and she could have shouted thanks to the Maker even through her personal disbelief. “But first…”

He gave her a knowing smirk and leaned back into her, and for the first time in days, even with the lingering presence of conversations left unfinished and thoughts left unspoken, she shut out the rest of the world to the best of her ability, closing her eyes and letting herself fall into the moment, all the while a strange sense of numbness began to wash over her.


	31. Sticks and Stones and Bricks and Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: institutionalisation, past abuse, death and loss, vague references to rape, referenced emotional abuse, referenced suicide attempt, general anxiety
> 
> I guess heavy Kanders feels are just in the air right now? I'd already had this update outlined and partially written even before the recent return of a certain other fic it's no secret I'm painfully invested in...[coughs awkwardly in A Hundred Years from Now's direction]...so I suppose there appears to be a current trend, perhaps? Meep.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Everyone gathered in the back room of the clinic as usual Tuesday night.

This particular Tuesday evening, however, held a subtly yet somehow strikingly different tone from the start. To begin with, for the first time since she’d joined, then on her seventh week among the Kirkwall Crew, Hawke did not sit between Varric and Aveline, but had already seated herself beside Anders by the time either of her closest friends arrived. Hawke had also neglected to go home after work, and had herself come down straight from Anders’s alongside him.

Merrill and Isabela were the next to come in, hand in hand together as usual, followed shortly thereafter by Aveline, and then Varric and Fenris, who had also come as a pair, albeit that of a vastly different variety, and witnessing the entrances of both sets of dynamics would almost have been amusing in contrast, at least perhaps under different circumstances.

Hawke had hardly left Anders’s side since her appearance at his door Saturday afternoon, going only to work and briefly home on Monday for clean clothes. Aveline obviously detected the tension behind Hawke’s casually deflective smile when she’d seen her come in to grab a few things, but she did not press the issue, and Hawke was sure the relief she felt was evident.

Anders was still detached, and Hawke hoped she was adequately feigning the impression that she was handling it better than she was, although he did not remark on it if her attempt was in fact lacking, and she found that oddly good enough. He had again promised to try to speak genuinely about himself to the Crew, and she continued to hold on to the small hope that if he had been able to open up to her as much as he had, that perhaps it might translate to the rest of their friends better than he thought, and that how successful her own such promises had proven thus far might fall into the already stark pattern of their similarities.

He was, of course, still going to give first priority to Fenris, a response she would have anticipated anyway, but he had still somehow felt the need to state it to her explicitly. She understood, she wouldn’t try to deny that, but it wasn’t as though these meetings had a set time limit, and she wondered to herself how much she could push at him before he pulled back too far for her to reach him.

Her own emotions flickered in and out of existence, or so it felt to her, for as much as she tried not to shoulder everything happening around her. She knew it was simply the result of old habits, the need to take responsibility for everything that might ever go wrong in the world deeply ingrained in her for much too long. The long-held chronic guilt that should serve as her mother’s legacy left her feeling irrationally at fault for what struggles had recently befallen Anders, Fenris, and Aveline alike, despite how much she had tried to help them, despite the fact that blaming herself not only made no sense but was also harshly selfish of her, which her inability to reconcile only made for another problem to fuel said guilt.

Hawke reached for Anders’s hand in an attempt to ground herself, an effort she silently vowed would be the only self-serving act she would make for the evening, but he did not even seem to notice, so she sullenly let her arm fall back to her side. She searched the room around her, seeking a feel for everyone’s state, and gathered all she had expected to see.

Isabela sat to her right, and she was in her usual position of leaning against Merrill, seemingly unaware of the palpable tension, and Hawke thought for a moment of the possibility that not everyone present actually felt as such. Merrill, too, had a stoic demeanor, and Hawke let herself wish that it might truly mean they at least had escaped the apparent wrath the previous few days had bestowed upon the rest of them. Next to Merrill was Aveline, who looked as tired as she had been over the past couple of weeks, but there was still a clear alleviation of tension after her own night out with Anders. Varric was the only one among them who wore any semblance of ease in his expression, although the only harsh change he had undergone as a result of this particular burst of weird times before them was housing Fenris, which Hawke knew would take some getting used to on Varric’s part, as he was long since accustomed to indulging his preference for living alone, for which his extended stay at Aveline’s after Bethany’s death had been a marked exception. Still, as exemplified there, he had a big heart, for as often as he tried to bury it under bad jokes, and she knew he was not going to complain about the situation, especially for being one so dire. Fenris, on the other hand, was absolutely miserable and appeared to make no attempt to conceal it. Looking at him sitting next to Anders, their desolate expressions almost a perfect match, brought Hawke back to feeling just enough that she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing, such a ridiculously awful response to the sight but the only one her mind could conjure, a grossly inappropriate internal effort to cover her own desperate sadness.

“So, how is everyone?” Anders finally asked after a period of time Hawke could not possibly have named, although she would assume it was much shorter than she felt it to be. “Would anyone like to start?”

He subtly glanced at Fenris, who only shifted his eyes towards his knees, his dour glare otherwise unchanging, and Hawke briefly shook her head at herself, the cliché of the deafening silence overwhelming her thoughts.

“We missed you two Saturday night,” Isabela spoke up in a teasing tone, although it then seemed she was starting to feel it, too. “Everything alright?”

The follow-up question was asked in a strikingly different voice from the initial comment, but whether or not she had intended the harsh contrast, Hawke was uncertain. Despite the way the very air in the room seemed to grow heavy under the weight of the long pause between words, with determination Hawke began to chew on her bottom lip, adamantly refusing either to speak for Anders or lie outright, and she saw no other options were she to answer.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Isabela added almost hesitantly, her usually unerring mask of confidence faltering under the pressure of the awkward exchange, or more accurately the pronounced lack thereof.

“Donnic and I have our anniversary on Thursday,” Aveline offered, clearly in an effort to take one for the team, so to speak, or at least to get a dialogue moving. “We’re going out Friday. Reservations at Chez Ezoire, then we’re staying the night at a little bed and breakfast he found on the Coast. I’ve been doing a lot better with processing all of this, with the whole Wesley issue, since Anders was kind enough to speak with me privately about it the other day, and that helped me open up more to Hawke about it, and that’s been a huge help, but…”

“But what?” Anders asked as Aveline trailed off, and even through the obvious sincerity of his concern, his gratitude for having the spotlight taken off of him was not lost on Hawke.

“I’m not sure, I…” Aveline’s conviction started to waver, and Hawke actually thought to wonder if she genuinely had more such issues to discuss, or if she was just talking to ease the pressure around them for everyone else’s sake so others might follow suit, realising that either case was just as likely, but her pondering on the subject was quickly halted. “Okay, fine, I really don’t have anything to add. _Someone_ needs to get to talking, though; to be honest some of you are starting to scare me, so…”

“Are you certain? Would you like to talk more about processing?” Anders asked her, apparently forgetting Hawke’s prior warning about hiding from her.

“You’re not being subtle, Anders,” Aveline replied sternly, in a voice she typically reserved for Hawke alone. “You’re lucky Hawke taught me a long damn time ago not to take such things personally, or I’d be _terribly_ offended right now that you would possibly think I can’t see straight through you.”

Anders’s eyes widened at Aveline’s words, clearly taken aback as he shifted, and he suddenly squeezed the hand Hawke hadn’t even realised she had again stretched out towards him, and she shifted herself to better grip it, intertwining their fingers in an attempt to ease him along.

“No one else would like to go?” His eyes darted around the room quickly, resignation clearly overtaking him when the rest of the group remained silent. “Well, Trista, it looks like you win this time.”

She offered him a smile, or at least the best version of one she could conjure, and she increased the pressure of her hand in his. Fenris gave him an encouraging nod, as well, and he swallowed hard before continuing.

“Alright, then,” he started nervously. “I promised Trista I would talk this week if given the chance, and it seems that’s what I’m getting so…I suppose it’s only fair, the way you’ve all opened up so much but I’ve never been offered the same level of honesty, myself. Fuck, at this point I don’t even know where to start…”

At that note he looked at Hawke with pleading eyes, but she wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to suggest, herself. She knew well that he could have been looking for an out just as easily as a nudge, and for as much as she longed for him to start using this space he’d created to his own advantage, she still found herself reluctant to push.

“Hawke’s talked a little about the Circles, relayed some of what her father told her,” Varric chimed in, much to Hawke’s relief and Anders’s chagrin. “What I’ve heard just from that is, well…it’s fucking _wild,_ Blondie, to say the least. It’s honestly hard to imagine they can get away with shit like that, but I know they do, so…I guess you can start there?”

“Honestly, Varric, I could speak non-stop on the subject for the entire remainder of my life and I would still never adequately describe to you all of the atrocities that go on behind closed doors there,” Anders replied solemnly. “It’s as though our humanity had been forfeit just because we’d been born with wonky wiring in our brains. Sure, such things should be treated, Maker knows, but to lock us up like they do…and that’s not even the worst of it, not really. Every kind of abuse you can think of…I mean, of course it doesn’t happen to everyone, and there are many within the system without such experiences who they manage to indoctrinate and fucking gaslight well enough that even they will defend the position that they ‘need’ to be there themselves, but…whatever you’re picturing, it happens, and probably more often than you think.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Hawke asked softly, her words tentative, careful not to stress any specific thought behind the question, but her mind racing back to the matching faces he’d worn with Fenris and Isabela in response to her own assault, added to how her previous suspicions regarding the intensity of their reactions had already been confirmed for one of them.

“I was fortunate,” he answered in a deadpan. “I got out.”

“That isn’t what she asked, though,” Merrill interjected, and Anders shook his head knowingly.

“Yes,” he forced out when he spoke again, still unwilling to elaborate, but it seemed no one was going to deny what progress was yet being made all the same. “At least for me the… _things_ …they did would usually serve as punishment. I was a runner, every chance I got except…and they made it clear that anything I got whenever they brought me back was on my own head, my own damn fault. A part of me has learned to deal with that, to accept that it can’t be quite true when they hurt others who had done nothing wrong in the same way, but…”

“Except?” Merrill spoke up again, and Anders bowed his head forlornly and continued to increase the pressure against Hawke’s hand.

“Except when he was there.” Anders’s voice was heavy, cracking as though under the weight of his admission, like a ton of bricks had fallen on him, like he was choking his words out through the dust they formed, through the debris they left in his throat.

“You lost someone, yes?” Aveline clearly already knew the answer to the question, but she asked it anyway, continuing to guide Anders through this just as she had done for Hawke so many times.

Anders cleared his throat before he looked back up, and at a quick glance his way Hawke saw the welling forming in his eyes, the way he tried to blink it away in a short pause that felt impossibly drawn.

“Karl Thekla,” he answered, his rough tone reduced to gravel. “We shared a room, among many other things, at Kinloch Hold for years. It was careless of us, though. We were young and stupid and we got so caught up in it all that we never even considered the consequences of our actions. He’s buried behind the Kirkwall Chantry now. I don’t think they even told anyone when he died. They barely even bothered to mark the grave.”

“How?” Isabela asked, but Anders again shook his head.

“Please,” he sighed. “I…fuck, I’m sorry, but is that enough for now?”

“Hey,” Hawke whispered when Anders moved to cover his face with free hand. “You’re doing so well.”

“They sent him to the Gallows?” Fenris asked thoughtfully, despite the continued superfluous nature of the inquisitive inflection. “Is that what brought _you_ here?”

Anders only nodded, still shielding himself from anyone being able to see his expression.

“Is that why you’ve been so apprehensive with Hawke lately?” Varric questioned bluntly, and Hawke looked to him and aggressively shook her head, watching her friend slink back into his seat.

“It’s still not your fault,” she added, desperate affection pouring out through her intonation. “None of what happened is your fault.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” Anders managed through gritted teeth, and the hand over his face morphed into a fist, which he pressed against his forehead as he dug that elbow against his leg. At the same time, still, his other hand’s grip on Hawke’s grew even tighter, almost painfully so, but she didn’t care. “After they took him away, I ran again. My last attempt before the time I finally made it for good. I can’t even imagine what they’d have done to me if I’d been caught this time, because after they brought me back then, they locked me in solitary confinement for a year. A fucking _year._ The only human contact I had for so long was when they came in to throw me my meals, often literally, and whatever pills they had me on. I don’t even know how long they meant to keep me in there. They only let me out because I’d started tonguing my meds, until I had enough, and then I…”

He didn’t need to finish the thought, and Hawke wasn’t sure he could have in any case. She could catch just enough of his face from his new position to see that he looked as though he only just realised he was still speaking aloud, mortified by his own confessions, before he moved his arm to press his fist against his mouth, but it barely muffled the whimper he tried so hard to hold back when he choked on an impending sob, and then he broke completely. Hawke released his hand to push her chair closer to his, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him forward to press him against her chest as well as she could from their angles.

“I’m so sorry, Anders,” Merrill offered softly once he began to quiet.

“You never needed to hide any of this from us, you know,” Isabela added. “We’re all friends here. That’s supposed to be a two-way street last I checked.”

“Thank you,” Anders replied weakly when Fenris, Aveline, and Varric all nodded their agreement.

“Who heals the healer?” Hawke mused sadly out loud, and Anders exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke up again. “I really didn’t think…I suppose perhaps I should let these things out more often.”

Everyone present exclaimed some variation of an affirmative response, and then Anders looked to Fenris.

“How are things going with you?”

“They’re going,” he shrugged. “Everyone here already knows the situation, which thus far has not changed. I don’t really see any need to elaborate further for the time being. It’s fine, at least for the moment. I promise. You, on the other hand…you need to take care of yourself, Anders.”

“Yes, well…” Anders cleared his throat upon trailing off, and an unspoken agreement that the evening had reached its end became apparent.

“I’ll see everyone but Big Girl tomorrow?” Isabela asked once everyone began to rise from their chairs, and they once again supplied their varied positive responses.

“Should I wait for you to finish up, or will you be staying?” Aveline stopped Hawke just as she moved to start helping with the stacking of the chairs as she always did.

She looked to Anders, and then back at Aveline, unsure if he would welcome her presence or if he might prefer to be alone, but she quickly decided that she could sleep on the couch in the latter case, that just the idea of voluntarily leaving him by himself right then was beyond her very comprehension.

“I’ll see you later, Aveline,” she answered quietly, and her friend nodded with a small smile.

“Good,” she replied just as softly. “That was the correct answer. I’ve taught you so well.”

Everyone made their departing rounds, hugging their goodbyes as usual, finally leaving only Hawke with Anders while they finished cleaning up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the wordcount on this fic now officially surpasses that of _the Sorcerer's Stone,_ which is honestly just a big ball of wow.
> 
> Also, a casual reminder that I am [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and I am always open to new friends there!


	32. Devolution of the Devoid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of character deaths, like _a lot_ of discussion of character deaths, alcohol abuse-ish, implied dissociation, references to institutionalisation, referenced emotional abuse, self-medication
> 
> By far the longest chapter yet. Oops.
> 
> I promise I'm actually going to be resolving _some_ of this angst soon, but at the same time I should probably give a heads up that I am also (as will be very obvious by the end of this chapter) leading up to another personal demon purge and I'm honestly already having a fair amount of anxiety about it, so yeah.
> 
>  
> 
> ["Willing to Fight" by Ani DiFranco](https://youtu.be/Yt0J7TWNZI0)  
> ["Work Song" by Hozier](https://youtu.be/nH7bjV0Q_44)  
> ["My Body Is a Cage" by Arcade Fire](https://youtu.be/nhhZdune_5Q)

Hawke knew full well that chain smoking in a cemetery was not her classiest move, even without the occasional sneer of a passing Chantry mother, but of course she had no intention of letting that stop her.

Another two months had passed by in a blur. Fenris was still at Varric’s, even though he was starting to doubt himself regarding his sighting, but if nothing else he had finally started talking about it more on Tuesday nights, had finally started letting people in. Getting Anders to do the same in his own right was still an ongoing process, but progress continued and she was every bit as unwilling to discount any of it as the rest of the Crew. Aveline and Donnic had, after their successful anniversary weekend, started talking more seriously about the prospect of moving him in, but Hawke was grateful that any such planning was still in the very early stages. Not that her newfound hesitance on the subject was in any way a personal slight, of course. She genuinely liked Donnic, and she certainly liked Aveline and Donnic together, but she found herself growing increasingly apprehensive towards any further great life changes, at least for a little while.

Although by that point she was pretty much splitting her time between her own home and Anders’s. After his first big participatory Tuesday evening, she’d slept there the rest of the week, only finally going home after work on Monday. Things between them were still what they were, but the comfortable nature of their interactions, the way they seemed to fit together just so, both physically and emotionally, had coupled simply with time to somewhat quell the state of anxiety that fact had previously held. It didn’t go away, she wouldn’t make that stretch, but a casual kind of ease had washed over the situation, and she was in no mind to question it.

She’d come to the vast Chantry courtyards from her apartment that Saturday afternoon, however, fighting with herself all along the way. Naturally she despised the place, with all it stood for and all the damage it did under the guise of some “greater good,” and even being in the general vicinity of the towering entity that would happily lock her away if they knew who she was to their agenda made her skin crawl, hence her nerves as she finished a cigarette and moved immediately to open a new pack. She had the decency to discard all of her garbage into the old one, previously collected in her lap, which she would keep in her purse until she could dispose of it properly, and therefore felt no guilt about the matter, and she only returned the glare she received when she lit whatever number corresponded to the one between her lips just then.

She sat cross-legged in front of the marker that read “Bethany Hawke, beloved daughter and sister,” and tried desperately not to scowl at the former designation. She still hadn’t spoken to her mother, despite the ever-dawning realisation that the longer this went on the harder it would get, but she continuously shoved that thought to the back of her mind, decidedly unwilling or even unable to deal with whatever that might imply. She had to admit, though, that fear for who she might run into, for how uncomfortable such an occurrence might be, was likely a significant factor in the fact that this was her first time visiting her sister’s final resting place.

“Satinalia will be here before we know it,” she said shyly to the headstone before her. She didn’t believe Bethany could hear her, that she was in any sort of place beyond where words would get through, but she had no idea if the act might yet make her feel better, so she tried regardless. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how warm it is in Kirkwall this time of year. I actually have people to buy for now, though. I should probably get on that. It’s a shame you never got to meet most of them. I think you’d all have been friends, too. Oh, I told Varric I was coming by. He said to say hello to Sunshine for him, so…Maker, this is ridiculous…”

She shook her head at herself and took a long drag from her cigarette, riddled with uncertainty but desperate to find something there, to have made her nerve-wracking excursion to the Chantry grounds worthwhile.

“My friends, though, Bethany, they’re…” She let herself trail off and looked around, lowering her voice to barely so much as a whisper. “They’re like _us._ Can you believe it? There’s a whole group of us, and it _helps._ It really, properly helps. If only Mother hadn’t given Varric and Aveline so much reason to be afraid then maybe…”

She trailed off again, choking back the rest of her thought before she took another drag, only made aware of the tears falling when she pulled back to exhale and noticed the drop that had landed just below the filter. She finished the cigarette anyway, and then immediately reached for the extra large travel mug she’d brought with her, taking a large swig of its contents, lukewarm coffee that also happened to be at least 50% whiskey. She promptly reached back into her purse again, fumbling for her fresh pack, and stumbled upon a bottle she knew hadn’t been there before, that she didn’t remember taking with her.

She’d been good since the funeral, and even then she had only taken Ativan, a selection she believed she could have justified if she’d needed to. Still, her fingers twirled the bottle of Vicodin against her palm, and the rush of temptation was overpowering. She thought for a moment that maybe she should call Anders, or perhaps Aveline or Varric, to tell them what she’d done, what she couldn’t even recall doing, even to stop her from what she might still do.

She realised her hands were shaking when she gently set the bottle back down in her bag and lit another cigarette, attempting to conjure every ounce of willpower she possessed, but the racing of her mind was abruptly cut short by the sound of her name, and she only hoped she was imagining the way she jumped, the pathetic noise she made in response.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Carver offered carefully.

“It’s fine,” she managed, her own voice just as cautious. “So, umm, how are things?”

“Alright, I suppose.” He sat down beside her as she took another drag, and she made sure to turn away from him to breathe it out. “You might want to watch your smoking around here, though. It’s not technically illegal but still, if my boss sees you…”

“Your boss can blow it out their ass,” she answered defiantly, and Carver surprised her with a smile.

“You know, I’m actually inclined to agree with you there,” he admitted. “Commander Stannard is a handful. Honestly, even some of her more Chantry-loyal subordinates think she goes too far. So you really should be careful, Trista. I’d hate to see her get to you. Maker only knows how poorly that would end.”

“Goes too far?” The words settled over Hawke’s head like a stormcloud. The Kirkwall Psychiatric Institute and Clinic had a reputation all across Thedas for being exceptionally cruel, even by Circle standards, although getting to know Anders made Hawke doubt just how much “better” the others really were. Her father never led her to doubt, though, that it had thoroughly earned its nickname of “the Gallows,” and the idea that she couldn’t even visit Bethany’s grave without fear of repercussion made her want to kick something.

“You’re not even a fucking person to her,” Carver replied with a marked inflection of hostility. “She doesn’t seem to care much for rules, either. Her word is law around here, and no one’s been willing to stand up to her. She approves of some terribly cruel practices, and she often even orders them herself.”

“Like fucking lobotomising an inmate…I mean, umm, _patient,_ of course…with bipolar?” Hawke swallowed hard at her question, not sure if she even should have spoken up about the subject at all, but the look on her brother’s face eased her concern.

“Maker’s balls,” he let out with a slight cringe. “I’m going to assume that’s not a hypothetical, but don’t worry, I’m not going to ask. Honestly, the less I know is probably better, but that sounds _exactly_ like the kind of thing that’s right up her alley, yeah. Shit, Trista, I have no idea how much longer I’m going to be able to keep this fucking job…”

Carver seemed to be at a loss for words from there, a rare instance, and he then surprised Hawke even further by pulling his own pack of cigarettes from a pocket.

“What happened to ‘if my boss sees you’?” She almost laughed, and he only shook his head.

“My boss can blow it out her ass,” he replied with an amused expression right before he drew the cigarette to his lips to light. “This is your first time here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Am I that easy to read?”

“You’re easy enough to smell,” he said sternly, noting her mug. “What the fuck is in that?”

“Exactly what you imagine,” she shrugged. “What? They’ve imposed limits on me at the Hanged Man over the last few months, so…”

“Those your plans for tonight, then?” He seemed genuinely worried, but it appeared that he also knew better than to press the issue, especially when Hawke had only just begun letting him in at all.

“Karaoke,” she told him, deciding to proceed with remarkable lack of hesitance. “It’s become a regular thing. Helps that I’m friends with the DJ.”

“One of the friends from your moving party?” His tone was more curious than anything, even though she found herself searching for some hint of judgment somehow, but there was none.

“Yes,” she answered. “It’s usually a good time, maybe you ought to come one of these days.”

She hadn’t meant to make the offer, but she surprised herself when she didn’t regret that she did.

“I’d like that,” he replied in earnest. “I’m free tonight, if that’d be okay.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, discarding the cigarette she’d been working on and lighting another. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Cool,” he nodded with a smile before he rose to stand, nodding again appreciatively when she held out her hand to take the end of his own cigarette once he finished. “I should get going, but I’ll see you later tonight, then?”

“I’ll see you later,” she echoed and took a deep drag as she turned back to the cold stone that held Bethany’s etched-in name. “Well. Wonders never cease.”

***

“So,” Hawke began, almost reluctantly, when she sat down at their normal centre table, the last of the usual group to join that evening. “I may or may not have invited my brother to come out tonight.”

“Really?” Aveline was clearly taken aback by such turn of events, but it seemed moreso out of genuine surprise than anything else.

“Really,” Hawke responded, suddenly hesitant but aware that it was too late to take it back. “I don’t know when he was planning on joining us, though, so now would be a good time to start throwing out suggestions for a cover story on why I have so many friends now.”

“Do you think he’d get us in trouble?” Merrill asked apprehensively.

“I don’t know about this, Hawke,” Varric added. “He does work at the damn Gallows, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, but I think that’s led him to become _almost_ as disillusioned with it as the rest of us,” Hawke answered sincerely. “Still, though. I honestly just don’t know if I trust him with the truth and I’d rather not risk it. I don’t believe he’d say anything to any of his co-workers, but I _am_ afraid he might let something slip to our mother.”

“You met us here,” Fenris suggested. “We bonded over song selections or something, I don’t know.”

“We’ll go with that,” Aveline agreed. “It makes sense, and it’s simple enough that it shouldn’t warrant further explanation.”

“Sounds good,” Hawke nodded, quickly glancing over her shoulder when Aveline’s eyes perked up to gaze behind her. “Speak of the…”

“Hello, Trista,” Carver said casually upon his arrival. “May I?”

“Sure, pull up whatever seat you can find,” she smiled awkwardly.

“Hello, Carver,” Aveline added, her tone friendly.

“Junior,” Varric nodded at him, his tone just slightly less so.

“I’m afraid I don’t recall the rest of your names,” Carver noted with perfect composure, which Hawke couldn’t help but find hopeful as everyone else present went through their introductions.

“And that’s Isabela.” Hawke pointed towards the DJ booth with her footnote just as the regular introductions began.

“DJ Siren?” Carver questioned with a smirk.

“Oh!” Merrill replied enthusiastically. “She has a big thing for nautical themes. Water, mermaids, pirates, sometimes she actually has me call her ‘Captain’ in…oh, wait, never mind…”

“Thank you, Daisy, for that delightful gift,” Varric laughed when Merrill’s cheeks flushed, and the rest of the table, Merrill included, joined in.

Hawke quickly picked a song and ran over to submit it, passing by Merrill as she was immediately called up for her first round.

“Why so quiet, Blondie?” Hawke heard Varric ask while she retook her seat.

_“The windows of my soul are made of one-way glass. Don’t bother looking into my eyes; if there’s something you want to know, just ask…”_

“Just feeling observational this evening,” Anders answered with a shrug.

“Mmmmmmmmhmm,” Varric responded with a probably only half-joking scowl.

“Introverts gonna introvert?” Carver offered, and Hawke thought she saw Anders’s lips twitch as though he might smile.

“Yes, thank you,” he answered, albeit in a strange monotone.

_“‘Cause I know the biggest crime is just to throw up your hands, say ‘this has nothing to do with me, I just want to live as comfortably as I can.’ You got to look outside your eyes, you got to think outside your brain, you got to walk outside your life to where the neighbourhood changes…”_

“Have you spoken to Mother recently?” Carver asked, and Hawke noticeably bit down on her lower lip when he did. “Hmm, I suppose you’re not quite there yet, are you?”

“Is she past blaming me for Bethany’s death?” Hawke asked bluntly, the words sour in her mouth. “Sorry, that’s unfair, that has nothing to do with you…”

_“We’ll see what you’re made of by what you make of me. I think it’s absurd that you think I am the derelict daughter. I fight fire with words. Words are hotter than flames, words are wetter than water…”_

Carver shook his head sympathetically, and all at once he, Varric, and Hawke picked up their cigarettes, and the way the three of them seemed to move in unison caused Fenris to roll his eyes at them with a short laugh.

“No, that wasn’t fair to _you_ at all,” Carver spoke up again after his first puff. “I don’t actually know for sure where she stands on that now, but yeah, knowing her you might be better off never finding out.”

“Did she ever figure out how to blame me for Father, too?” Hawke laughed, and she tried to make it believable despite the question it followed, but it only sounded despondent.

“Fuck,” Carver said as he blew out another cloud of smoke. “I love Mother, I do, but Maker knows I’m sure she tried.”

_“I was a long time coming, I’ll be a long time gone. You got your whole life to do something and that’s not very long…”_

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Anders chimed in, “you never have told me what happened to your father.”

“Brain aneurysm,” Carver said flatly. “It was sudden, like one second he was having these headaches so bad they made him sick, and then the next his speech patterns went all off, and then the next he was just…gone.”

“He actually _could_ have been considered lucky, as we learned after that most people never even show any symptoms, but he wouldn’t go to the hospital,” Hawke supplied in turn, her own lack of inflection a near perfect match for her brother’s. “He adamantly refused to deal with any doctors ever, regardless of the circumstances. He was always too afraid they’d figure him out somehow, that they’d find a reason to lock him away again. I suppose it’s all kind of poetic, really. In the end, it truly was all in his head.”

“Shit,” Fenris exhaled, as Anders’s only response came in the form of wide eyes looking on sadly. “Maker, that’s…oh, Anders, she’s calling you…”

“Bugger,” he whispered before he stood up. “I’ll, umm, be right back, then.”

“I need a fucking drink,” Hawke said once Anders had walked off, grateful that Carver said nothing of it as she reached for the ashtray. “Oi! Norah!”

“Don’t be fucking rude, Hawke,” Varric teased as their server promptly arrived at the table. “Sorry about this one.”

“That’s the trend, isn’t it?” Norah joked, and Hawke rolled her eyes right back. “Oh come on, you know we love you. So what’ll it be tonight?”

_“Boys working on empty, is that the kind of way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I’m so full of love I could barely eat…”_

“Jack and Coke. Carver?”

“Same for me, thanks.”

“Seconds for everyone else? Alright, these’ll be out in just a few minutes.”

“That truly is terrible about your father,” Merrill added after Norah walked away to fulfill their orders. “I’m so sorry, both of you.”

“Thank you, Merrill,” Hawke replied softly, and then she shifted slightly to better watch Anders and lit another cigarette.

_“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her…”_

“So, Trista,” Carver spoke up again after a moment. “You and the blond…Anders, was it?”

“Anders, yes,” she confirmed. “What of it?”

_“That’s when my baby found me, I was three days on a drunken sin…”_

“Interesting name,” he said with a smile. “Is there some sort of story behind that one?”

“There’s _always_ a story,” she chuckled in response, intentionally mimicking Anders’s initial reply from their first meeting, their nearly identical exchange.

“So, are you two…?”

_“And I was burning up a fever, I didn’t care how long I lived but I swear I thought I dreamed her, she never asked me once about the wrong I did…”_

“It’s complicated,” Isabela laughed, appearing suddenly behind them in her usual form. “You, you’re the brother, right? Carver?”

“That’s me,” he nodded. “So what’s the deal then?”

“The deal is…whatever the deal is,” Hawke answered, blowing smoke into her lap, unsure of what else to offer.

_“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her…”_

“Fucking Maker, you guys are still on that?” Varric laughed, and Hawke looked straight at him with a pronounced frown.

_“My baby don’t fret none about what my hands and my body done, if the lord don’t forgive me…”_

“Hey now,” Aveline interjected. “Let them figure it out as they do, alright? It’s not our place to judge.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said gratefully, even while Fenris and Varric snickered. “What’s so funny?”

_“And she put her love down soft and sweet, in the low lamp light I was free…”_

“Says Serah Copper Marigolds,” Fenris replied with a smirk, teasing plainly in reference to one of Aveline’s many strange gift attempts when she first realised she was interested in Donnic.

Norah was especially quick with their drinks, and Hawke was immensely pleased to see them arrive when they did.

“That’s it, I don’t want you two living together anymore,” Aveline joked back, wagging her finger between Fenris and Varric.

“You love him, don’t you, Hawke?” Merrill cocked her head innocently, her features soft as she made eye contact.

_“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her…”_

“I do,” she admitted before taking a drag of her cigarette so long it hurt, the first time she’d said it out loud since the slip-up over Anders’s voicemail. “I am, however, also getting a little tired of having this same conversation over and over. He has his reasons, and when we figure it out, we figure it out, alright?”

“Sorry,” Merrill said quickly and her eyes fell, and Hawke immediately felt a sharp pang of guilt for snapping.

“Don’t worry, Daisy, it’s the rest of us she’s pissed at,” Varric assured.

“Yeah,” Hawke nodded, allowing her expression to break into a smile just briefly. “What he said.”

“Anyway,” Isabela laughed before she set off again, “Hawke, you really should be watching the way he watches you when he’s up there. Honestly, are you hearing this? Also, heads up, you’re next.”

“You’re not going, Varric?” She poked his shoulder playfully, and he shook his head when she grabbed the astray again.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Just not feeling it right now. Maybe later.”

“Well, alright.” She took a quick drink and made a point to poke at Varric again before she got up. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him only to be in the mood for socialising without participating in the actual karaoke, and his time hanging back with Aveline and Fenris was probably almost equal to his time throwing himself into the queue with the rest, but he knew she’d always tease him about it.

Anders smiled at her strangely when they passed each other moving to and from the table, a favour she attempted to return before she reached the stand.

_“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key…”_

The song was an odd choice for her, but even aside from the way the words stood out to her so much as they had recently, it had been another favourite of Bethany’s, so she decided it was a good time to try it out with Carver there. 

_“I’m standing on a stage of fear and self-doubt; it’s a hollow play, but they’ll clap anyway…”_

From the corner of her eye she noticed that her brother and Aveline were whispering to each other, which she figured only confirmed that she’d made a good call.

_“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key. You’re standing next to me, my mind holds the key…”_

In fact, it was even starting to look like he was trying to talk to the rest of the Crew, to hold a proper conversation, perhaps actually genuinely wanting to get to know her friends. She had always suspected he had it him, of course, no matter how often she doubted that very thought, although she couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t evidently taken losing their sister to bring it forward.

_“I’m living in an age that calls darkness light. Though my language is dead, still the shapes fill my head. I’m living in an age whose name I don’t know. Though the fear keeps me moving, still my heart beats so slow…”_

She didn’t have any unrealistic expectations about the scene unfolding before her still. She knew there would always be things she’d have to keep from him, things he wouldn’t understand, and that aspects of their personalities would always clash. But it seemed they could have this, at least, and that was nice.

_“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key. You’re standing next to me, my mind holds the key, my body is a…”_

She ran back to the table, microphone in hand, and downed the rest of her drink. She must not have had as much at the cemetery as she thought she did, though, or surely she would have felt that. She set down her glass and made it back to where she was supposed to be before the words returned to the screen, and her thoughts raced back to the Vicodin in her purse.

_“My body is a cage. We take what we’re given. Just because you’ve forgotten, that don’t mean you’re forgiven. I’m living in an age that screams my name at night, but when I get to the doorway there’s no one in sight. I’m living in an age that laughs when I’m dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key…”_

She hadn’t yet done anything with it, but that included anything responsible, such as getting rid of it or even simply just removing it from her bag. She didn’t even know why she wanted it so much. She’d been doing relatively well in the grand scheme of things, but she’d seen it and then the thought of it just kept gnawing at the back of her mind.

_“Set my spirit free, set my body free…”_

Carver actually stood up and hugged her once she returned to the group.

“I think, after that, it’s officially safe to declare Radiohead fair game from this point forward,” she told Anders with a smile when she sat back down.

She felt good, overall, except that she didn’t, and she couldn’t place a reason for her need to pull back. The sensation felt almost monotonous, repetitive, with how greatly she hated its episodic nature. Everything felt repetitive to her then, from the routine of her schedule to the generally consistent cycle of conversation, to seeing her friends, to having feelings at all, despite the positive elements all these things held. She thought she might find its sense of predictability boring were it not for the fact that it made her feel like drowning. It wasn’t actually predictable, either, not in the slightest, and she knew that, yet at the same time it always seemed to find her whenever she most needed it to stay away, or even simply when it felt most likely that it would.

“I think I’m going to call it early tonight, everyone,” she spoke up after what felt like ages. “Carver, did you drive here?”

“Yeah, I can take you home,” he offered with a smile and they made their rounds, paying for their drinks and then bidding everyone goodnight one by one before they made it outside and into his car. She assumed even then that her early exit would be remarked upon later, but she was also sure that no one wanted to risk giving away how much like her they all were, or even how much they knew about her when all of them were so accustomed to having to hide, lest they arouse suspicion over the origins of the whole group of them, and that even exhibiting too much concern for her sudden departure could be unwise.

The ride to her place was quiet, the same feeling of repetition somehow crawling over her, despite this particular drive home being a first.

“We’ll do this again sometime?” Carver asked as he pulled up to her building.

“Yeah, sounds good,” she agreed with a smile. “Just let me know.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “‘Night, Trista.”

“‘Night, Carver,” she nodded before she shut the car door, and she then made her way inside the apartment as quickly in a hurry. 

A little bit of a buzz had caught up with her, but still nothing even half as noteworthy as she’d have expected. She changed into pajamas and curled into bed, but her hand dangled off the side, her fingertips brushing her purse.

She wasn’t going to sleep with this sitting so heavily on her mind, she knew that much. It had been months, she should have been okay, she never even should have had it with her to begin with. Still, it weighed on her, and she decided that one couldn’t hurt. It had been long enough, too, that one might genuinely be all she needed to get what she wanted out of it.

She picked up the bottle, unthinking when she took it out with her to the kitchen, admittedly careless in her assumption that she’d be home alone a while longer. She opted just for water and partially filled a glass to take back to her room, still spinning the bottle in her hand.

Just one wouldn’t hurt, or so she told herself. Just one would get her to sleep, and perhaps the next day would be different.

She placed her water and her pills on the nightstand and crawled back into bed, and she stared at them for a moment before picking them back up, as though she genuinely believed she might give herself any other options, all the while the only clear thought going through her head was to tell herself that one couldn’t hurt.

So she took two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to some of my favourite angstlords for their help here: to the lovely [winebearcat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winebearcat) for supplying Anders's song, as well as to the lovely [ilyahna1980](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyahna1980) for their assistance in my decision to go down this much-needed path.


	33. Ready for the Sunset, Aiming for the Dawn, Crawling into Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self-medication/drug abuse, references to self-harm, alcohol abuse, and hypersexuality
> 
> Okay wow, this was really, _really_ hard to write. Literally, chapter 13 was easier. I did not realise _that_ could even be possible. But here we are, I actually got this—some of that aforementioned personal demon purging—out.
> 
> ["When I Am Queen" by Jack Off Jill](https://youtu.be/105LH6KAxq8)   
>  ["Passion of Lovers" by Bauhaus](https://youtu.be/t_-QAq8k0C8)   
>  ["Spellbound" by Siouxsie and the Banshees](https://youtu.be/eVTtFjU0T-Y)   
>  ["Thirty Whacks" by the Dresden Dolls](https://youtu.be/G0xxUfWC5b8)

Hawke awoke to the sensation of long, slender fingers running idly through her hair, a feeling she vaguely recognised even through her bleary haze, and she struggled to open her eyes to greet them.

Her head felt heavy, trapped in far more of a daze than was usual for just waking up, and her whole body was stiff and sore. She felt like she’d been lying there for days, although she knew full well that wasn’t possible. She knew that despite the way she couldn’t get her eyes to focus, the way the dim light of the room around her felt threatening, how it seemed as though she’d forgotten how to use her limbs entirely, that it must only have been Sunday afternoon, evening at worst. She thought that maybe she was just hungover, even if that didn’t tend to feel quite like this.

She knew without looking that those fingers belonged to Anders, that he was without a doubt the blurry, shapeless figure sitting up beside her moving his hand along messy tufts and loose strands. Her head hurt, the sort of ache that usually accompanied caffeine withdrawal, and she suddenly felt desperate for a cigarette, like she had gone much too long. Internally, she begged her body to cooperate, her mouth to form words, but all she managed was a raspy, frustrated hum.

“It’s alright, love,” Anders offered softly, the gentle inflection in his voice at his use of the endearment so delicate, so alarmingly fragile, yet somehow simultaneously laden with such sincerity she felt it course through her like a blow to the chest.

“Mmphf,” was all she had in response at her first attempt, but at last she was able to clear her throat to try again. “What are you doing here?”

She would’ve cringed upon hearing the profound slur of her own speech, the rough gravel of a voice she did not recognise as hers, had she the physical capacity.

“Everyone’s been very worried about you,” he told her, his tone unchanging.

“Why?” Her mind was wracked with confusion, genuinely entirely unable to understand the reason behind such concern, and another attempt at moving once again proved itself fruitless. “Mm, what time is it?”

“It’s just about 7:00 in the evening,” Anders told her, although she still didn’t get what precisely the problem was. It wasn’t as though she’d never slept so late before, especially after a night of drinking, even though she did still curse herself over the prospect of how much that would mean she’d just messed with her already difficult sleep schedule and how that might affect waking up for work the next morning, a concept only made even more horrifying when Anders finished his thought. “On _Tuesday.”_

“W-what?” She rapidly blinked away at the room finally starting to come into focus and managed to clear her throat again. “How?”

“That’s what we were wondering,” he admitted.

“There’s no…no fucking way,” she gritted, wincing slightly at the way her jaw hurt the more she tried to speak, the bitter taste in her mouth before giving up and reducing her attempts to no more than whispers. “That’s not fucking funny. I know there’s no way I’ve been in bed that long.”

“You haven’t quite.” His fingers didn’t let up against her scalp, and she was increasingly grateful for the soothing gesture the more aware of it she became. “Aveline says you’ve been up to the kitchen for water, but that that’s it, and that you’ve just gone right back to bed every time.”

She knew her first thought should not have been to invest in a collection of water bottles to leave around her room for such occasions, even despite how nervous it made her that she didn’t actually know just how much she’d taken when she’d still had to go out into the common area to continue, but she felt better that at least her next was more responsible.

“I don’t imagine I still have a job, do I?” Her hands were as shaky as her voice, but at last she stretched them out to crack her knuckles, a good first step if nothing else.

“I’ll talk to Lirene,” he assured, although she couldn’t imagine how much even he could do for her after two days as a no-call no-show. “She’s been worried about you, too, you know. Blowing up my damn phone all day to ask if I’d heard from you, although she did still talk me out of closing the clinic. But I came over as soon as I could.”

“I’m sorry,” she half-choked, her growing awareness leading her thoughts towards panic, trying to figure out if she could explain her way out of this without being truthful. Aveline knew she had such a history, although she had never seen it first hand, but Hawke still knew how poorly attempts to lie to her oldest friend usually went, knowledge which only exacerbated the sharp pang of self-loathing over how much she wanted to try, anyway. “Umm, Aveline…”

“Aveline’s in the main room,” he answered quickly. “I could get her?”

“No, no.” She tried to shake her head, but it was a pathetic attempt that left her aching even more than she already had been. “Not yet.”

“You probably should get up, at least,” he offered gently, and her immediate instinct was to pull her blankets over her head and push him away to leave her be, but she knew he was right, that light pounding resonating through her skull an effective reminder. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She recognised the tone he used just then, and she actually rasped out a short laugh in response. “Who’s asking? Is this Anders, or would it be Dr. Cousland?”

“Trista…”

“Sorry. That’s not fair, I know.” She slowly willed her limbs to move, slowly began to make progress. Her head swam and it made the process take even longer, but Anders was patient, keeping quiet the whole time it took her to sit. “Fuck, I need coffee. Shouldn’t that be out of my system by now?”

Anders simply shrugged and offered her a gentle smile. “If it makes you feel better, it makes you feel better.”

“Fair enough.” Her voice was still reluctant to come out, but she was starting to get a better hang of it all the same.

Anders stood first and held out his hand to help her up. She accepted it hesitantly, not quite trusting her body to do what she wanted it to, but she was able to take it and together they got her on her feet, and she only wavered slightly when she initially tried to walk and reached haphazardly around her nightstand for her waking necessities.

“Do you remember anything past the Hanged Man?”

“No.”

She bit hard into her lower lip at the lie, fully recognising her hypocrisy at not turning to him even after the fact, and briefly debated whether or not she should amend it.

“A little,” she corrected herself, and she decided to test just how honest she could be without entirely giving herself away. “I remember that my brother drove me home, that it was uneventful, and that when I got in I…I didn’t think I could sleep, so I took something for it and went to bed.”

“Some kind of sleeping pill?” He wasn’t judging, that much she could tell, but she couldn’t help but feel as though she was being interrogated even just from such a simple, obvious question all the same.

“Something like that.” For a moment she felt like screaming, her terribly wrong answer sitting atop the already glaring mistake of spending most of the past three days in bed because she was too strung out on painkillers to do anything else, but she swallowed down the urge and kept trying to focus on what had become the difficult task of moving forward, fighting through the cacophony her joints conducted.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Aveline must have heard them stirring, as she was already standing to greet them before they reached the main room. She sounded an awful lot like Varric with the way she spoke, in that same voice he always used to tried to hide his concern, even though they all knew it always a vain effort when he did it, and Aveline’s was no better.

“Hey, yourself,” Hawke answered, trying to match Aveline’s thin veneer of calm, and her attempt was actually met with more success, although it was probably just because she was too exhausted, too numb, so much so that it even seemed to supersede the contradictory panic still rising in the back of her mind, leaving her only monotones to speak in, any emotion too much to show. “I’m gonna take some coffee outside, okay?”

The “if you want to join” was clearly implied and everyone knew it, as she knew she wouldn’t get away without it, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, and the unspoken invitation was met only with two firm nods.

She made quick work of putting on a pot, mechanically moving through each step, and the next thing she knew she was shakily lowering herself onto a seat at the table on the balcony, reaching into her pockets before sighing in frustration.

“Hmm?”

She hadn’t even realised Anders had followed her outside, with his own steaming mug in hand, until his wordless query.

She pulled the phone which at least she’d apparently managed to take from her left pocket and placed it on the table beside her cup, but her fingers fumbled hopelessly around the emptiness of her right. “I forgot my fucking cigarettes. I’m sorry, can you…”

She hated to ask, but her sense of dread over moving to get them herself profoundly overrode that of asking the favour, and he seemed to mind about as much as she expected.

“Where are they?” He smiled softly, his eyes warm, expressing comfort, and it soothed her somewhat.

“If they’re not on the nightstand, try my purse. Lighter, too.” She shook her head at herself for her negligence, as if that were not by far the least of her worries. Still, it was an explicit expression of how much she trusted him that she had no qualms about allowing him to go through her personal belongings in such a way, although she couldn’t think of any reason why she shouldn’t. He’d seen her at some of her most compromised, most vulnerable moments already, making it feel like there was little left to hide from him, despite the very situation before her just then.

She took a sip of hot coffee as soon as he went back inside, and she instantly winced at the sensation of the burning of her tongue. She could swear that little bit of caffeine was already getting through to her, though, even if just through the peace of mind of having it there, and the sharp pain jolted her in a way that was not entirely as unpleasant as it should have been.

As she always did when sitting outside in silence, she pulled up her music app, and her eyes hyperfocused on the yellowing of the knuckles on the index and middle fingers of her right hand and the culprit behind such stains, on the fix she so eagerly anticipated holding between them, opting simply to hit “shuffle all” while she waited.

_“When I am queen I will insist, with perfect scars upon my wrists, that everything you once held dear is taken away from you…”_

She shivered under the singe of another scalding swallow, knowing she should let it cool a bit more before continuing but seemingly unable to help herself, her head still too abuzz with the paradoxical over-exhaustion of sleeping away so much of her time since the weekend, with the numbed blur of the world around her without more opiates in her system.

_“When I am queen, sweet Girl Scout’s face, and not a one will fall from grace, if all their hearts I could replace but until then I’ll have to drown, drown, drown myself…”_

Realistically she knew Anders had just left, but she tapped her feet anxiously and wondered what was taking him so long all the same. They must not have been on her nightstand, though, she realised, or he actually would likely be making it back out to her already by just about that point.

_“When I am queen on royal throne made out of parts of broken bones of all the devils I have known that suck the angels dry…”_

She chugged down the rest of her coffee quickly and her throat felt raw with the burn of it, and she welcomed the sting it brought against the new shiver which caught her from the unexpected chill brushing past. She didn’t have sleeves on, and the weather was still too cool for such a lack of protection even if Kirkwall was always so much warmer than what she’d been used to in Lothering, the reminder of what time of year it was fought her, and she took stock of every single old scar she felt when she wrapped her arms around each other.

_“Drown, drown, drown myself…”_

She realised there were rapid, hushed whispers coming from just the other side of the door, loud enough for her to detect but still too muffled for her to make out the words. Anders and Aveline were unhappy, that much was apparent, and it seemed a safe assumption that she would simply have to be the subject of the exchange. She pulled herself in tighter, bracing herself against the oncoming impact of the imminent arrival of two of the absolute most important people in the world to her and the words they were bound to have with her, the lies in her defense already forming on the tip of her tongue as she tried to prepare herself.

_“Hush, baby. Hush, baby. Hush, baby, go to sleep. Hush, baby. Hush, baby. Hush, baby, I’ll make it be…”_

Then, all at once, the sliding glass door opened and Anders gracelessly dropped her cigarettes, lighter, and empty pill bottle onto the table in front of her while Aveline wrapped a sweatshirt over her shoulders. Even having been caught in such a painful oversight, only then even considering that of course she’d have dropped that bottle back into her bag, her comfort was evidently still a priority to those she loved, and she found herself in a rare moment where she was too numb to cry and genuinely wanted that not to be.

_“When I am queen they will all see the patron saint of self-injury. The glitter sores will heal themselves, I’ll play the part of someone else. Drown, drown, drown myself…”_

She clawed her way into the extra layer she’d been provided while Anders and Aveline sat down with her, both sets of eyes locking her down, trapping her in place. Their gazes felt heavy, as though she could not move out from under them in she tried, piled hard onto the weight of the already glaring burden of her still weary state.

“Hawke,” Aveline began in a tone she did not know how to take, its gentleness too much to bear beneath her suddenly suffocating guilt as she shakily lit a cigarette at long last.

_“She had nut painted arms that were hers to keep and in her fear she sought cracked pleasures. ‘The passion of lovers is for death,’ said she. Licked her lips and turned to feather…”_

She grasped at straws in an attempt for words, for an explanation, to fight her way out, all things she already knew to be in vain, so she remained silent as she drew in soothing smoke, the only thing that could calm the edges of her desperation.

“Love,” Anders tried. He spoke the word exactly as he had before, but this time it came across as a serrated blade thrusting into her heart before the twist, and something snapped in her, forcing her against the closest she’d felt to reality since leaving the Hanged Man when her mind railed against it.

“Three days on a bender and suddenly I’m ‘love,’ huh? Is _that_ all it fucking took?” She was seething, she wanted to hit something, or someone, although whether it was Anders or she herself her abrupt rage was meant for was uncertain.

“Hey now!” Aveline jumped to Anders’s defense, the softness in her demeanor falling away entirely, the charred remains of what it had been seeping into mire to pool around Hawke’s feet, solidifying around her metaphorical cage. “You had us fucking terrified, you have no right—”

“No, no, I earned that one,” Anders interrupted morosely, an olive branch for Hawke to burn.

_“‘The passion of lovers is for death,’ said she. The passion of lovers is for death…”_

“How many?” Aveline asked bluntly, pointing towards the empty bottle.

Hawke took a long drag and realised she genuinely didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.”

“Lo—Tris,” Anders tried again, and she was then made certain that she truly was the one she wanted to throttle over the edge of the balcony, after all, not him.

_“She breaks her heart just a little too much and her jokes attract the lucky bad type, and she dips and wails and slips her banshee smile, she gets the better of the bigger to the letter…”_

“I don’t,” she shook her head against herself, and when the heat of welling tears she’d nearly prayed for just moments before began to hurt her eyes, she despised how much she no longer wanted them. “Honestly, I didn’t count.”

_“‘The passion of lovers is for death,’ said she. The passion of lovers is for death…”_

She needed more caffeine, and already another cigarette even though she was only half-way through the one she had, but most of all she needed more pills. She bit her lip between drags, not even bothering to stop when she tasted blood.

“You know these things are mostly paracetamol,” Anders added. “That’ll get you well before the hydrocodone does, and that’s a slow, painful way to go.”

“Thanks, _Doctor,”_ Hawke gritted, wishing she could take it back the second it left her mouth. “Fuck!”

“What is it?” Aveline’s concern made its quick return upon Hawke’s unintended exclamation, another question for which she had no answer.

_“From the cradle bars comes a beckoning voice, it sends you spinning. You have no choice…”_

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and her words sounded as hollow as they felt.

_“You hear laughter cracking from the walls, it sends you spinning. You have no choice…”_

“What?” Aveline was terse but fragile all the same. It wasn’t often she could be frazzled quite like this, again leaving Hawke without adequate words. She wanted to offer “for ever entering your lives to begin with,” but she found the melodramatic nature of the emotion overtaking her to be every bit as unspeakable as she knew it would be unwelcome.

“Trista,” Anders spoke up again. “You were drinking Saturday, too. This is serious. If we don’t even know how many you took, it’s not out of line to treat it as a miracle you’re even alive right now.”

“Miracle,” she mocked despite herself. “Maker be praised, this irredeemable shitshow shall yet live on! Oh thank you, blessed Andraste, for granting us this divine gift!”

“Hawke…”

“Trista…”

She put out her cigarette and automatically lit another, watching closely as her cracked lips stained the filter.

_“When you think your toys have gone berserk, it’s an illusion you cannot shirk. You hear laughter cracking through the walls, it sends you spinning. You have no choice. Following the footsteps of a rag doll dance, we are entranced. Spellbound…”_

“I’m sorry, I…” She had nothing, nothing of substance, every passing thought racing through her mind as meaningless as the next, as the last.

Anders held out a hand, but she didn’t take it, couldn’t justify accepting the gesture or any such kindness the present two of her three closest companions were granting her, even that which came in the form of such brash attempts at intervention, and she hunched over the table in a vain effort to hold back a choked sob.

_“Thirty licks with a belt, same old tricks on myself and I wonder, does everyone else live this way? A succession of tests, a triumphant success; each time I’m still intact at the end of the day…”_

“What can we do?” Anders asked, so softly, so mildly, yet she still wanted to attack it.

_“Thirty drops in a glass, keep my temper and pass with my breath held. You bastards, you’ve lucked out again. It’s not really so bad, there’s still mom, there’s still damage to do before they wrest the axe from my hands. It’s no mystery, you should obviously go before I break everything…”_

“Honestly, Hawke,” Aveline chimed in again. “Do you know how many times I tried to wake you? You just…you really scared me. I don’t know what I would do if—”

“What, if I died? I’m not even sure I can do that,” she uttered with a grimace, unsure why she said it aloud, unsure how she’d even allowed that thought past. “That’s not a peace I particularly deserve.”

She bit down hard on her lip again upon realising she was still speaking, and promptly licked the metallic taste from her teeth.

_“My personal demons can scheme with professional flair; oh god, they’re after me. If I could shut them up just for a second I swear, I could stop this catastrophe…”_

“What can we do?” Anders asked again. Both of them looked heart-broken over the conversation, such devastation she was so good at leaving in her wake.

“Don’t forgive me,” Hawke choked with a shrug. She was in a strange limbo between sobbing and emotionally destitute, awkward tears coming in and out as her body and her brain argued with themselves over where to land on the issue.

_“Thirty day guarantee but they can’t have meant me. After all, I was born to a child-proof world. No sharp corners or glass, small objects or plastic bags; please, these are death to a delicate girl…”_

“Trista…”

She thought of getting up, of walking away and heading for Ferelden. She could stow away on a boat, away from the Free Marches, and slowly work her way back home, to those blighted lands poisoned by politics she never fully understood. War had taken her home from her, and in doing so had separated her indefinitely, likely forever, from all she had left of her father, left miles and miles of land and sea away from her sister, Malcolm Hawke’s grave now inaccessible along land made barren by faulty human nature. She wanted to find him, still, to lie across the patch of dirt where he’d been laid to rest and simply let the aftermath take her.

She wasn’t actually going to do any of these things, of course, and she reluctantly gripped Anders’s hand to ground herself to where she was, to where she knew she had to stay.

_“You should obviously know that I’ll destroy everything, so don’t go telling me that you’re dying to know, ‘cause you’ll get what you’re asking for…”_

“Please,” she added between longing puffs, the excessive fulfillment of one craving doing nothing to satisfy the other. “I clearly can’t be trusted with it.”

She felt so small, possibly moreso than she ever had, and she didn’t know how to sit with it. It was one slip-up, just the one, sure, but it was one that had creeped in unexpectedly and plagued her until she succumbed to it, unprompted, leaving her no justification to conjure, no pieces to pick up. All she had then was the fragmented shell of someone not quite her yet all too her at the same time, and she wanted to smash it to dust.

“I’m not sure I can make that promise,” Anders smiled gently, and Aveline nodded her agreement.

She’d done this before, stopped this before, but only when she’d run out of money, out of resources. Then she’d always moved on to fill the void it left with cheap liquor and razorblades and anonymous trysts she barely remembered the next day until she could find more, or until she simply lost herself so far down the rabbit hole of her other precariously poor forms of coping that she was often too far gone to recall what she’d really wanted to start with. Even still, in those times, eventually it would always find her again, always call her back and greet her as an old friend longing for reunion. This was not that. This was choice. This was letting people in, letting the recent growth of her support system take effect, letting herself say no for reasons within the realm of her own control. This, she wasn’t sure she could handle.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you before, Anders,” she added thoughtfully, realising she’d left that moment painfully untouched, newly desperate to keep talking, not to let a lull in to consume her. “You didn’t earn that, no, it wasn’t fair and…fuck, none of this is fair to you…to any of you…”

_“If I could shut them up just for a second I swear, it’ll look like an accident…”_

“Stay with me after tonight’s meeting?” He still looked at her with such warmth, such care and consideration. So was Aveline, for that matter, and she swallowed hard against every instinct she held that wanted to push them away so she might regain the broken interpretation of freedom necessary to continue down this path.

“Fuck, Tuesday,” she realised as she finished her cigarette and rested her head in her hands. “I…I don’t think I…”

“Obviously you can’t stay here by yourself, Hawke,” Aveline interjected, as should have been expected. “Oh Maker, we should probably get going soon…”

“I really…please,” Hawke practically whimpered. Her stomach turned and suddenly she felt sick, although whether it from continuing lack of narcotics, lack of food, or simply nerves was beyond her. All she knew right then was that she couldn’t face the rest of their friends, not right now, not like this, and she begged for the right words to convey this, but it seemed Anders understood.

“You can always sleep it off at my place,” he offered, and Aveline again nodded her agreement. “Everyone else will be in the clinic if you decide you need us, but even if you don’t you’ll be in a safe space…”

“Restricted territory in lieu of a baby-sitter?” She was doing it again, split down the middle of her consciousness, trapped between needing to let them in deeper and to toss them aside completely. “Fuck, sorry, I…”

“I know,” Anders said softly, and of course he did. “Just…fuck, _please.”_

She wasn’t even sure how she would handle just the short ride to Darktown on its own, but she begrudgingly acquiesced to Anders’s compromise, unsure of what other choice she had besides engaging that intrusive impulse to say “fuck it” and actively burn those bridges right then and there. Tempting as it was, something held her back, although it met her with a pang of regret when she moved to stand back up and the stiff ache of what felt like every single cell in her body came roaring back to greet her. She didn’t even change, just grabbed clothes for the next day and double checked her bag for contraband, still unwilling to lose whatever she might yet have lying around. Sure she was adequately composed and ready for inspection, she returned to her friends to make their way to Anders’s building, but she kept her head down and her eyes screwed shut with her fists in her hair, fighting with her bitter body from Anders’s front seat all along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An additional note, the most difficult and intense of this current personal demon purge thing is coming on 2 June. Specific date because reasons. I've already started on it and it's...really rough. So yeah.
> 
> On a far less angsty note, though, this fic is now officially longer than _the Chamber of Secrets,_ which I'm honestly pretty excited about because fucking nerd.
> 
> And of course, I am [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) on Tumblr if anyone ever wants to be friends.


	34. Prelude to Exigency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anxiety, impending breakdown, guilt complex, self-loathing, vague reference to Karl, another vague reference to potential Circle abuse, and we're obviously still kind of in the aftermath of the painkiller relapse thing even though it isn't quite explictly stated
> 
> Also, smut. Although I apparently couldn't even make _that_ fluffy to any real extent right now. This chapter was supposed to be a lot lighter, something of a buffer, but these characters still seem to have minds of their own and they don't always cooperate with me, haha.
> 
> No music this chapter, but the quote towards the end is in reference to [this scene from Velvet Goldmine](https://youtu.be/Az3usvWiyzA).

“Okay, I’ll let her know. Thank you so much. Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

Anders’s voice came through a distant haze from, presumably, the main room, but it woke Hawke just enough for her to catch the tail end of whatever he was saying to whomever he was speaking. A moment later the door to his bedroom opened and a gentle kiss was placed atop her head, right as the soft warmth that had rested against her chest disappeared with the sound of a bell.

“Hi,” she drawled out groggily, which earned her another kiss.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Anders said softly before turning away to change for his own attempt.

“Mm. What time is it?” She shifted to look at him despite herself, despite knowing she should do as he suggested in hopes of trying to force her sleep schedule back to as close to normal as it ever got, but she couldn’t help her need for contact, for closeness, even in just the form of conversation.

“It’s not even 10:00; I’m only just coming up from the meeting,” he answered, and she sighed wearily at the response, even if it was just about exactly what she would have expected.

“Who were you talking to?” She was still entirely aware of the fact that it was not at all in her best interest to actually become properly engaged in any kind of real discussion, but she figured the past few days had already been so full of poor decision making that she wasn’t even sure how much more it could hurt. At the very least the stiff ache that had previously ravaged her muscles and joints along with the empty churning of her stomach, all of which had left her feeling sick and overwhelmed among the fleeting panic that had taken much too long to leave her, had dissipated since picking away half a bagel and then immediately lying down after she’d gotten to Anders’s.

“Lirene,” he replied to her widening eyes. “She wants you back Monday, and she says to take care of yourself in the meantime.”

“The fuck she does.” She sat up as he took the same position beside her. “Surely you’re joking.”

“She loves me, remember?” He laughed softly with a gentle smile, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “This is a pretty big strike, though, even _I_ couldn’t prevent that. You’ll probably be on some thin ice at the shop for a while, but she was honestly mostly just relieved. Don’t ever think people aren’t looking out for you.”

“I know,” she nodded, trying to conceal how much the thought somehow only made her feel sadder. “I just don’t understand why.”

She should have tried to go back to sleep before they got to talking, as she was still too tired to properly filter her thoughts before they crossed her lips. Something was brewing, though, an ever-growing sense of dread over the state of her own mind lingering incessantly like a cartoon stormcloud, and she almost wondered if perhaps the way the threshold between what she could and could not say kept crumbling was, subconsciously, her reluctant version of a cry for help.

“Don’t worry about it right now, love,” he offered delicately, shifting them both to cup her face in his hand, to glide a thumb along her cheekbone. “Just know that we are, that we care. Just remember that, no matter what else, there are _always_ people here for you.”

“You’re magical, you know that?” She laughed through a shy grin, melting into his touch as though for just this moment it could shelter her from the world beyond those walls, from the vast expanse of a universe being ripped apart by supernovae behind her eyes. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, words like “help” and “afraid” dancing along the tip of her tongue, but when she actually wanted them to come forward they remained in place, hidden, unspoken, her inability to elucidate only exacerbating their necessity.

He appeared contemplative, like he was fighting his own such battle, and he kissed her lips softly before allowing himself, seeming so fragile when he said, “I love you.”

Her eyes closed against those words she’d so longed to hear over the past couple of months, rendered lachrymose, frangible before her overbearing expectations of her own unstable decay.

She opened her mouth as if to speak but still no words could find their way out, the unwelcome welling in her eyes the only response she had, and the parting of her lips was claimed by Anders once more, and all she could do was wrap her arms around him to pull him closer, breathe him in.

“I’ve been holding back from saying that,” he said, breaking away after a time that felt like ages, that felt much too short, and he pressed his forehead to hers as he reached around to run his fingers through her hair.

“Why?” Her voice cracked inside just that single syllable, her head like frayed edges singed together by both his confession and his apparent uncertainty.

“No one I’ve ever known like us has ever dared to fall in love.” His own voice wavered against his words, and he pulled her in closer yet, pulled her in as close as he could with how they were positioned to push away the looming of their obvious silent agreement not to make mention of his one previous notable exception. “It’s always felt too much a risk, like it gives _them_ too much power to have something you couldn’t stand to lose. It would kill me to lose you.”

Her head fell back to his shoulder of its own accord, every single thing he said piercing through her, resonating its way into the core of her very being and threatening to tear her apart from the inside.

“You aren’t going to lose me,” she whispered, and for as strongly as she meant it she couldn’t help but feel shaken by how much it seemed like a lie the moment her voice escaped her throat. She had no intention of walking away from him, not ever again, but she knew that even this, for all of its raw beauty and for all of the relief it brought her, could not shield her from the turbulence raging within herself, and she barely managed to hold back a laugh when the word “tumultuous” came to mind.

“I’d thought this part of me was over after…I promised myself I…” He was hardly maintaining his own composure, lost to the moment, to her as much as she was to him, what conviction he had hanging by a thread, and he seemed to bring himself back by gripping her tighter, grounding himself to her with his lips against her hair. “This is the rule I will most cherish breaking.”

He broke with it and she willingly succumbed right alongside, shattering as they let their hands wander as their mouths again intertwined and they feverishly consumed each other, their skin as hot as the tears she kept fighting back from her eyes, as hot as the fire in his when hers met them, both sets of lids instantly closing at the contact to push out the rest of it, to leave only sensation, touch, desperate emotion with nothing left of the outside world to take away from this.

He pulled her flush against him, causing her legs to part around his hips as her body spilled into his lap. Both arms wrapped around his back and one hand gripped into his hair, trying to bring herself closer even though there was no real space left between them, but she feared that if she were to let go, if she were to were to separate from him at all she might just disappear. It seemed he was as ravenous as she, as she could feel how hard he was beneath her, and all she wanted was to get him inside her, to have him take her completely and never let her go.

She had never seen him quite like this, the way he kissed her right at the cusp of aggressive and fragile, a line she didn’t know could be so close, could wear so thin. He made the most beautiful, desperate sounds and she felt they permeated her whole being, rendered impossibly pliant against his touch, left only to crave more and more and more.

“Fuck, Trista,” he started, breathy and longing, before moving to trail his lips against her neck, to take in every inch of skin available to him, and she craned her head back in her own desperation, ready, eager to feel him, to feel nothing but him.

Her mind raced once again, thoughts flooded with words she could not bring herself to say, dissonant pleas of “save me” and “breaking” raged against her, perseverated through her head and she dug her nails into wherever her hands had landed by that point, praying for reciprocation, and she shuddered when it didn’t come but instead his hands ghosted so softly down her back, so careful as they moved to lift off her shirt and wasted no time in pulling her back towards him.

For a moment she considered pushing him away, begging for his hands around her throat, his teeth tearing into flesh, his open palm across her face and her ass, for him to hold her by her wrists and assail her with bruises and scratches until she couldn’t take anymore. Still, she remained malleable against his touch just as he provided it, with such gentle consideration to each movement unlike any she had ever known, and she couldn’t help but feel undeserving, fraught with emotions already abhorrently frail.

She tried to mirror his motions as best she could, dedicating the same kind of care to weaving her hands through the limited space between them and reaching for his shirt, kissing him softly once she pulled it over his head, allowing her fingers to trace lovingly over his collarbones, across his chest, the occasional scars of she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the origins, and then they both moved in a mad rush to strip off the rest of their clothes.

Aside from ragged breaths and several small, involuntary vocalisations, the room was quiet and she fought herself, wanting to say something, anything to break the silence, but there were no words to express so much, so she only bit at her lip to hold herself back once she laid down on the bed. She suddenly felt cold without his body against hers, empty without his weight overtop her, and she shivered in anticipation.

He did not immediately crawl his way over her, however, as she expected, but pulled apart her legs and rested them over his shoulders before he dipped his head between them, looking up at her with wide, warm eyes, waiting for her approval. She nodded vigorously, needing more, needing him, and her head fell back instantly when he ran his tongue along her clit and teased around it with his fingers.

She tensely screwed her eyes shut and begged the angry whispers in her head to quiet, begged herself to think of nothing but how good his mouth and his hands felt against her, how close he had her already.

She lost all concept of time as her legs began to shake, and she tried harder still to force away all thought with each hitch of her breath, each tender gesture and the pure affection so evident behind every one.

He was simultaneously slow and vivacious in his touch, every movement he made deliberate, meant to draw her out, to show her everything he’d only just started being able to say. She felt a tinge of guilt in response to how clear he inadvertently made his. He probably didn’t even realise how obvious he was, but of course by that point she could read him like a book, just as he could her. Anders had never previously been a selfish lover by any stretch of the imagination, and he always put extensive time and effort into making sure she got the most out of it she could, but this occasion, with each careful caress, was so intensely intimate, so profoundly for her sake above all else that all the parts of herself she hated most when she was with him wanted to push him back.

Finally, somehow, he got through to her, and she let go with a sharp intake of breath and a small whimper as she tugged into his hair with unsteady hands. He smiled up at her once she began to still, and at last his whole body met hers and she drew her lips back to his with a fervor, and she only hoped the intended expression was adequate.

He broke away for just a moment to take his cock in hand and guide himself in, and he immediately shifted his weight over her again, claiming her completely as they angled themselves just right. She lifted her hips as much as she could and crossed her ankles behind his back, and he used one hand to support her there and the other to hold her hand above her head. There was no roughness to it, though, just connection when their fingers interlaced and he gripped her tight.

“Anders,” she said aloud, and the sound of his name seemed to reverberate around them in such stark contrast to the silence in between. She wanted to say something more, still trying to shield herself from leaving her head any space to talk to her again, but nothing came.

“It’s alright, love,” he whispered, his lips almost directly against her ear, which he then moved trail them along. “I’ve got you.”

He saw through her, because of course he did, but he didn’t for one second stop moving, how badly she needed this as apparent as how bitterly she deemed herself unworthy of all it implied.

He moved back to kiss her lips again and again, each time growing in intensity, until he let go of her hand and shifted himself up a little bit to adjust them both, and the noise that came from her when he did was high and breathy. He slightly altered his thrusts in response, hitting her deeper, and his hips snapped faster but not harder. A strange softness was maintained throughout, absolute adoration filtered into raw passion made physical, and it wasn’t long before her eyes closed again with a shout.

She’d already been reduced to more shaking, every bit as much from the emotional impact as it was from the tactile sensations, and when she opened her eyes she saw he was coming apart at the same rate. His mouth was open and his breath was heavy and rapid, and his eyes kept darting back and forth between her and the ceiling. He was gorgeous like this and the sight of it overtook her, and her hand twisted the pillow nearest her as her head dug itself roughly into the mattress below.

She moved her hips in time with his and clenched her legs to pull him closer, and the arm that did not remain wrapped around her moved back to take her hand again, that time starting at her waist and slowly making its way up, gliding gently along her bare skin just to feel it.

She rested her free hand against his cheek when his face was as close to hers as it could be, and she lifted her head to meet him, forcing their lips together, wanting no part of him to leave her in any capacity. Pressure and unadulterated heat built and built inside her all the same, and she couldn’t stop it when she gave in again, when her head fell back once more and she arched her whole body into him with a loud, rough shriek.

“Maker,” he exclaimed in return, and she knew the way she shouted, the way she then kept shouting, was about to undo him the same way.

She took her hand from his cheek and snaked it between them, pressing it just above his cock until he stopped thrusting. He looked at her questioningly, and she thought he still might not wish to take away from keeping her the focus as he had been, but he gave in when she offered with a rasp, “Please…”

He pulled out and crawled further over her so she could reach him with her mouth, and he quickly finished in her throat with a harsh moan just as he had the first time, and she swallowed all he had.

She felt light, almost euphoric, even as the demons in her head already began to claw their way back into the forefront, no longer being fucked into submission, and she let out an embarrassing startled gasp when Anders laid down beside her and took her into his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, so unapologetically pleased to finally be able to say it.

“I love you, too,” she answered, but the words came out wrong. They were too distant, too hollow, and she feared he might not even believe she meant them anymore, despite the fact that nothing could be further from the truth.

“What is it?”

She turned herself over to face him in hopes of making herself say something, anything to let him in to how she felt herself slipping, how legitimately scared for herself she was becoming. Yet when she moved her lips to speak, words failed her entirely. She stared at him, mouth agape but powerless against her brain’s desire to shut her down and lock him out. In her head she was joined by an indistinguishable number of unrecognisable voices in her screaming, but all she found to bring forth was an irritated sigh.

“It’s not you, it’s just…” She didn’t even catch herself saying it, only heard the words after she’d spoken them, but she still couldn’t figure out an end to the statement. Finally she thought of something she could latch onto, hide behind, as she remembered the first time she’d spent the night there without meaning to, and how they’d fallen asleep. “‘The world has changed because you are made of ivory and gold; the curves of your lips rewrite history.’”

The quote earned her a sincere smile and a short burst of laughter, and she was able to return it. He stared at her intently and he looked so content, more than she’d ever believed she could see. It made her happy, in a way, despite the overwhelming impending collapse of her ability to feel anything beyond despair, if anything at all.

Something was coming, the desolation creeping in, filling her head with such darkness she couldn’t push out, couldn’t force away, couldn’t just ignore. She despised herself for it, for how things were actually falling into place for once, how she should have felt any number of things on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from what she did.

“I need a cigarette, love,” she told him, and his face lit up so beautifully at her own use of the endearment he’d adopted. “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you okay?” He looked worried, even though the beaming in his eyes did not falter, and she cursed herself internally for this strange conflict she was causing.

“I don’t know,” she managed, as close to honesty as she could bring herself. “I…I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She quickly threw her pajamas back on and took what she needed from her bag, and made her way to the kitchen to crawl out of the awkward window that led to the fire escape.

She sat down on the steps and felt as though she was watching herself in a movie, through someone else’s eyes yet still in first-person perspective. She didn’t know how to process that she was even a real person, so she only stared at the sky in a daze while she smoked.

She was done before she even truly realised she’d started, but she decided not to concern him further by taking any extra time, despite her disappointment that going out as she did hadn’t helped to calm her at all like she wanted, and she went back inside once she finished.

She’d hoped he might be asleep when she got back, but she knew that was too much to ask for all the same, and he smiled up at her lovingly when she returned.

She stripped back down, still wanting to feel him as close to her as she could, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her again just as soon as she was back in bed.

“Oh,” he spoke up after a moment, “I made you a key. I’ll leave it on the coffee table for you in the morning.”

“Thank you,” she answered earnestly. She had what she’d been wanting, had what she’d been hoping for much longer than she wanted to admit, even if it was still a little fast, and she begged herself to appreciate it appropriately. “I love you, Anders.”

It rang truer that time, at least, her inflection properly reflecting the sincerity behind it, and his hold on her grew firmer.

“I love you, too, Trista.”

They were quiet after that. Everything fell silent except for the occasional jingle of Pounce moving around, every so often the sound of a passing car outside, and the noise inside her head. Anders fell asleep eventually, his shallow breathing burning in her ears, a harsh reminder of how much better she should feel in painful contrast to how very lost she was. It was of no help that she knew he’d still be leaving in the morning for the clinic, even if that was only just downstairs, and she wouldn’t want to bother him while he was working. Aveline would be at her job as well, and she had no idea what Varric was doing. There was still Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris, but she hadn’t yet reached the point where she was comfortable reaching out to them outside their meetings, which had nothing to do with them and was therefore yet another thing for her to feel guilty over. Neither her mother nor even her brother were options, of course, and she even thought of trying to busy herself by heading to Lirene’s, but she already knew she wouldn’t be able to make herself face her until she had to.

She closed her eyes against the fog, the clouding thoughts and the yelling inside, and she silently pleaded with the universe to be kind and bring her sleep for herself, but it didn’t come. So she stayed awake all night, wrestling with her head, with the terrible anticipation. Something was coming, and she wasn’t ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in fact, my goal _was_ to throw in as many lines from the in-game romance cutscene as humanly possible. Meep.
> 
> The Really Big Personal Demon Purge Thing that I've been a mess of working on is next chapter, too, just as a heads up. That _will_ be specifically going up on the 2nd of June for sure. Because it has to.
> 
> By the way, if you read this and ever want to talk to me about it/validate my BPD ass (haha), please do. This is my true passion project and it means the world to me whenever I learn that people actually care about this story, seriously, so...yeah. I'm friendly, I promise!


	35. Elegies for the Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicide attempt, self-harm, substance abuse, detailed depictions of cycling bipolar episodes
> 
> This is it. This is the big awful thing I've recently been talking about needing to write. Or, well, yet another, I guess. The last had been harder to write than the first, and this one was even moreso than the last. Further, albeit probably unnecessary, detail and explanation will be found at the end. I'm sorry I keep feeling the need to do this, and I am very grateful for those who still read through all of it (and a shout out to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for being so damn perceptive, by the way).
> 
> ["Everything in Its Right Place" by Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG-jg1jizVE)   
> 

Hawke was manic. It had come out of nowhere in the cold light of morning, blindsided her and left her aching just to breathe, to dig her way out of her own skin, and she found herself pacing around the city in the hope that her bones might abandon her flesh along the way, to be left behind on some sidewalk in a back alley.

After a long, sleepless night, Anders had left for the clinic, and she gave no indication that she wouldn’t be okay on her own, neither would she have wanted to try to tempt him away from his work for such a reason in any case. So she got up not long after him, found her change of clothes and got ready for the day like any normal person would, and she took her key and left without aim, without purpose, taken by surprise when she started moving faster, when she couldn’t slow down, a useless attempt to outrun her own mind.

She’d known something was coming, had feared for it with an uncomfortable, unrelenting longing, had known there’d be no way to prepare for the storm, but this was not what she would have expected.

Manic wasn’t quite the right word for it, though. It had been at first, but then it shifted, had morphed itself into something more, widening the chasm inside her soul, frightening her in ways she had never felt before. Despite the aggressive rush, despite the intensity behind them, her feelings of invulnerability were faced against a desperate fragility, under which she was rapidly cracking. Still, she was overcome by restless energy, her thoughts overwhelming yet fleeting, her spirit boundless and unending. She thought of looking for tracks to jump onto, to punch the air once the train came and failed to slay her, to say that she had bested it in battle it, for deep within the core of her heart she truly believed she could.

Except that this vivid mental image did not make her think to emerge victorious but to concede her failure, that she couldn’t even die properly if she tried. Running through the streets, running from herself, and then she was home, not that it mattered. She didn’t see Aveline on the way in. She had no idea what time it was or where she’d been. At least nothing happened to her along the way, because of course it didn’t, because it couldn’t. She would live forever, just like this, with her heart pounding out of her chest and her thoughts racing past the edges of her consciousness in chaotic blips, never landing long enough to place yet still hitting hard enough to burn. She thought of never dying, forced to endure, just like this, head pounding with an insatiable longing to tear her own face off, to rip out all of her hair and use it for kindling, to dig her nails into her skin until it opened up wide and all her insides came pouring out. She thought and thought and thought, fighting through harsh, panicked breaths because in that moment all she wanted to do was end it, to close her eyes and find peace in never having to open them again, to disappear entirely. Flashes of her friends’ faces added themselves to the quick snaps going off inside her mind already, and she realised she was actually laughing out loud. Cackling, in fact. If her brain had been trying to provide her some form of comfort, some reassurance that some forced continuation of her existence might mean something to someone, she found it hilarious. Her friends loved her, she knew that. People did genuinely care about her, about her well-being, she had learned better and had more consideration than to try to deny that, and she loved them just as much. Which was why she had to let them go, just as she had said her first night with the Kirkwall Crew. They’d be happier without her, of course they would, and that thought seemed to latch on, even as others she couldn’t recognise kept speeding past it, that thought didn’t go.

And then she was crashing hard, sobbing into the carpet. She didn’t remember lying on the floor, but there she was, and she moved to bite into her forearm when she realised she was howling. Aveline must not have been home, or at least she couldn’t imagine she would have slept through such noise. It was dark out by then, she had noticed that much, so anything was possible, but nothing seemed possible all the same, just as nothing made any sense. She might have just had a long day at work, however, truly been that exhausted. If Aveline had even worked that day, if it was even a weekday at all, Hawke was no longer sure. Infinity had passed her by since leaving Anders’s last, while time hadn’t yet moved at all in that space.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

She’d evidently turned on music at some point, bracing herself against the sound, the volume low but each note resonating through her as though blaring, her veins pumping in tune even as she briefly managed to turn away from it.

Hawke quieted herself just enough to make a quick trip to the kitchen without detection, her footsteps soft, her movements so fluid it felt as though she was no longer in charge of them. She picked up a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of an awful discount wine she couldn’t remember why she’d bought and that no one had liked. In an instant she was back in her room, and at least that time she made it to the bed. She changed her clothes, decided she should make herself comfortable. She wasn’t sure how much of that decision was hers, though, as everything she did seemed to just happen, as though she’d lost all volition, her agency stripped from her by some unknowable force that coaxed her hands into bags previously recklessly tossed about as if she were mechanical, reaching for bottles upon bottles she didn’t know she still had, precariously placing a couple of pills at a time onto her tongue, swallowing them down with long swigs of cheap liquor, her throat raw.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

Vicodin. Ambien. Ativan. Oxycontin. Percocet. The labels were so enticing, she’d read them over and over, having carefully made her choices. She had somehow maintained enough clarity of mind to be selective, not to add too much to this abysmal cocktail lest she overwhelm her body, lest it reject her ingestions before they could do the work she intended of them, even if those intentions were so disconnected that they were not quite her own, even if she still wasn’t exactly sure they could work no matter what she did. The Ativan and Ambien called to her most powerfully for reasons she could not explain, possibly even just drawing her alphabetically, and she cringed against the bitter taste each time she popped a new helping into her mouth. There was some aspirin floating around, she didn’t know why, she’d certainly never used them, but she swallowed a few of those down anyway, and then she was trailing something metal she couldn’t even name haphazardly across her arm, hoping to give herself a show, that the addition of the blood thinner might make that familiar crimson stream come out prettier somehow. She suddenly regretted her yoga pants and stretched-out tank top, considered putting on a dress, reapplying her make-up, dousing herself in glitter, leaving something beautiful behind. She had no strength to do any such thing, though, so she kept moving against her arm, waiting for her skin to open, for the aesthetic pleasure against the sting. Maybe she just wasn’t pressing hard enough.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

She probably wasn’t, and she briefly set down her makeshift blade for another dose, another drink, her hands shaking, already starting to fumble through their simple tasks. Of course she wasn’t, she couldn’t do this right, she destroyed everything she touched, even that which was meant to destroy herself. She wasn’t going to die here, she knew she couldn’t possibly, for she knew, as she had already said, she did not deserve such peace. Still, she prayed and she prayed and she prayed, for if there truly was a Maker and he truly was merciful, she would close her eyes and drift away and never wake up. She prayed, if not for her sake then for that of her friends. She prayed, for even if she had not yet earned such escape for herself, at least they must have earned their escape from her and they were apparently all too daft to see it for themselves, so she would have to force their hands, even as her own began to fail her. Just as she had failed them, had failed everyone she had ever known and loved by being…this, by being so broken, by being weak and selfish, by being.

_“There are two colours in my head, there are two colours in my head, what is that you tried to say, what is that you tried to say, tried to say, tried to say, tried to say, tried to say…”_

She caught herself crying again, and she tasted blood when she pressed her lips back against her arm to try to silence herself just to be safe. She didn’t remember finally breaking skin, though, and there was something disturbingly disappointing about that. She wondered if everything was starting to take effect but she couldn’t be sure, as it wasn’t like such a feeling wasn’t already all too familiar even without the aid of outside substances.

_“Everything, everything, everything, everything in its right place, in its right place, in its right place, in its right place…”_

She realised she must have put the song on repeat, either that or she was even worse off than she thought. Either seemed completely plausible, so she took another couple of pills. It was the end of the wine, which was fine. The bourbon was much better, anyway.

Her stomach turned after another long drink from the latter, she must have been moving too quickly. She was so afraid to fuck this up, of the ultimate self-sabotage, but she couldn’t focus properly on anything, had no idea how long she’d been at it, of the lengths of any given space in between. She had to keep herself occupied, had to keep herself quiet, had to keep herself from getting caught.

_“Everything in its right place, in its right place, in its right place, right place…”_

She wondered if she should have written something down, if she should have left something behind to try to explain to those she cared for that this was, above all else, for them. That yes, she was consumed by something greater than herself, that she dubbed herself beyond all hope and had been overcome by insatiable desire not to have to do this any longer, but that she knew the burden of this disaster would fall to them as long as she was living, that as long as she was there for them to love her she would be too weak not to let them, so she had to leave them all behind so they could move on with their lives. She cried harder, so hard that it hurt, that her throat was wrecked and her eyes were on fire and her head burned with the pressure of trying and failing to hold herself back.

_“Tried to say, everything, everything, everything…”_

More bitter pills, more bourbon, more choked back sobs, and her throat stung, as hot as she was helpless. She couldn’t keep control but she thought she could feel herself starting to disappear, finally...

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, so sorry, I’m sorry…”

She repeated the words out loud over and over and over, rocking back and forth against the wall from her bed, her knees by her chest and her elbows on her knees and her head moving in and out from her hands, then stained with more blood she couldn’t remember shedding, and she wasn’t sure why she was speaking but she couldn’t stop herself.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

The Ambien was gone. Or maybe it was the Ativan. She wasn’t certain, she could no longer see straight. Nauseated and incoherent, the darkness kept growing, working its way further in to claim her, to make a vacancy of her untenable body, to take her from this place.

_“Everything, everything, everything…”_

She took another of whatever it was from the bottle that was not yet emptied, and that’s when she heard the door creak, or at least it felt like one instance immediately followed the other.

She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. What remained of her reality came in and out, fading, falling away, oblivion creeping up to take her.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

She kept muttering her apologies under her breath, repeated whispers of her last words.

“Hawke!”

It was Aveline, although she appeared more as an ominous, shapeless apparition from somewhere between the realms of dreaming and waking, and her tone indicated that had not been the first time she’d called her name.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, all she had left to offer, unable to conjure other words, better ones to hide behind, rendering herself too obvious, hoping against hope that it was too late for it to matter.

“Sorry? What…Hawke…sorry…you…have you done…”

Aveline’s words faded in and out just as Hawke herself did, to the point that she wasn’t even sure if her friend was even really there, or if she was simply a hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d found herself interacting with things that weren’t real, sights and sounds and touches and smells only sent by her mind to plague her, while trapped in a similar cycle of such episodes. Anything was possible, nothing made sense.

_“Everything in its right place…”_

The world around her grew darker, dimmer, blurry as it spun before her. She was still sitting, still rocking, still moving her shaking hands around her shaking view indeterminately, even as it all closed in around her, even as her light-headedness grew exponentially in intensity by the second and she had no clue how she was still there at all.

_“Every…woke up…tried to…place…place…lemon…say…colours…sucking…say…thing…”_

She lost the music, slipping harder, faster, completely losing herself right with it.

“Hawke…no…can’t…don’t…won’t…you…leave…no…help…”

Aveline was there, and then she wasn’t, and then she was, although that did suggest she was even real, a point which remained unclear. She was still talking, had started yelling even, but Hawke quickly lost her, too, as no words came through, everything a haze, speech fighting to breach through the fog surrounding her to no avail.

“I love you,” Hawke slurred. “I—I’m sorry.”

And then she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. Yet she still remained aware enough to be certain she was free, gone away, that she had left this world and all the hurt it held behind her at last, her corporeal form abandoned as she leapt into the abyss, as she was cast into the Void where she belonged with a smile on her face.

***

At some point, some time later, somehow she recognised the clinic coming into focus. She was alone as far as she could tell; there was no one in sight, at least, and no voices to be heard. She felt sick, exhausted, and confused, desperately struggling for coherent thought. All she knew for sure was that her eyes were open. Her eyes were open, and this was real. She was awake, she was alive, and this was not supposed to happen. She’d failed, she’d been so afraid she couldn’t do it, so afraid yet still so sure at the same time that she’d finally reached the end, but she had come out the other side to greet a new day she was never supposed to see. She couldn’t breathe, she wasn’t meant to even still have that ability, and even through her continued daze, her inability to quite yet process what she found herself having to accept, she did the only thing she possibly could in response. She began to bawl, choking on her regret for her own life, wracked with grief for what could have been. She managed to find her limbs, to bring her fist into her mouth, and the muffled sound of her sobs cried out in requiem for what she’d lost in being found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are now, 2 June 2016. It was five years ago today that I had what I typically, terribly uncreatively, refer to as my "big attempt." Because that was the one I really, truly meant the most. That was the one where I truly believed I was going to die, and I have still never fully emotionally recovered from the fact that I failed to do so.
> 
> What is written here, however, is actually a combination of that attempt with the one that came before it, a little less than a year prior. I couldn't bring myself to write 2 June 2011 as it happened exactly, though. Even if I would have been able to shift the story as it is right now for that to have worked, it's simply too much for me to lay out like this. That last time was not spontaneous, it was not in the midst of a crash. It was calm, calculated. I thought about writing it that way, but this was raw enough. I picture that's how Bethany's was from the first chapter but, again, I can't bring myself to describe that like this. Not yet, at least.
> 
> The time before last came as the result of a manic/mixed episode crash, but that's where the similarities to that time ends. The last one, the big one, though, is pretty much exactly the same from there. The same kinds of pills, the same kinds of drinks, the same song on repeat, the same belief that this would be a favour to those I love, the same fear of failure, and even the silly regret over not preparing to leave a pretty corpse. I wrote out the experience as best I could from what I remember, but just as depicted here, it wasn't long before any sense of coherence was completely abandoned and periods of time I still don't know how long they were go completely by the wayside. It wasn't a friend who found me in my case but my mother, who managed to sneak into my building when she buzzed for fuck knows how long with no answer, but that's about the only real difference at that point. I vaguely remember her freaking out when she found me, which I just assume was because I was too obvious since I was already pretty far gone at that point, as well as the whole thing with the self-inflicted wounds, and then that's about it until I found myself in a hospital some time later. I've always assumed it was the next day, but I genuinely can't be sure (edit: fun fact, thanks to Facebook's memories feature and the fact that someone I was friends with at the time updated my page for me to let everyone know what was going on, I recently learned that it was actually three days later, so there is even more time I can't account for than I thought!).
> 
> This is actually something I don't talk about in detail very often—which is an odd thing for me, as I am typically a bit too open about my mental illnesses and all my traumatic experiences—but at the five year mark past the day I legitimately believed was going to be my last, and now that I have this outlet, it just felt right somehow. So here we are.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who still puts up with this fic even when I seem to use it as a therapy session so often. This fic means way too much to me anymore, and is just so important to me, and it means more than I could ever say that there are actually people out there who care about it, too. Thank you, truly.


	36. Crossing the Cataclysm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: referenced suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, self-loathing
> 
> This chapter, thankfully, ended up managing to be a bit fluffier than I had originally intended it to be. I would obviously be lying, though, if I said I wasn't glad it turned out that way. I actually really needed that today, so...yeah. The occasional perks of writing a fic that so often tends to have a mind of its own.
> 
> No music this chapter.

It was chaos in the aftermath.

Surprisingly, this seemed to mostly apply only to Hawke herself, to her mind torn asunder by her body’s apparent strong will to survive, its independent decision to push her forward despite putting forth such effort to destroy it, how terribly she resented it.

Anders had come in to check on her not long after she’d first woken in the clinic, having heard her crying even though she had so desperately tried to conceal it. She apologised profusely, something she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop doing from that point, and she certainly hadn’t had the heart to tell him how upset she was that he couldn’t have just let her die.

She had no idea what had happened after Aveline found her aside from the simple fact that it had actually happened, that those hazy last moments of any semblance of awareness had in fact been real. She had no memory of leaving their apartment, no clue how long she’d even been in Anders’s care once they had. She didn’t ask, either, though. She couldn’t be bothered, too angry with herself over the question’s very relevance, so she held back, unsure how to proceed, how to even talk to those she loved anymore.

What she did know was that she’d been there for two days since discovering where she was, that she was being closely watched, that her friends were far too pained over what she’d done, and that Aveline couldn’t look her in the eyes. Hawke knew there was no malicious intent behind that one, but the fear she’d felt had left its mark on them both, and Hawke could swear all she saw when she tried to look at Aveline was the face of disappointment. Real damage had been done, the tension between herself and everyone palpable, but it was because they all cared too much, and that was the part that hurt the most.

Still, all her friends had been in and out to see her, dropping by as often as they were able, and far more understanding than she felt she deserved whenever she was too depressed to interact properly. Varric visited the most, aside from Anders, whose presence was obviously most frequent, and he’d made a point to see her at least ten times in just those couple of days. He was remarkably casual with her, more light-hearted in his demeanor than she’d possibly ever seen him before. Of course, however, she knew him well enough to see that his act had only stepped up so dramatically as a defense mechanism, simply in response to how bad he was really feeling. She had truly believed she would be doing them all the ultimate service, but all that had actually happened was making everything so much worse.

On the first full day she’d woken up to Anders and Aveline fighting over whether or not Carver and their mother should be told what happened. Anders actually argued in favour of the action, but Aveline refused to put Anders and his operations at such risk. Hawke was unspeakably grateful that Aveline was going to win by default, just on the merit that she was the only one amongst them who had any of her biological family’s contact information, and Anders eventually gave in and agreed not to look for them himself if she was so adamant in standing her ground on the subject.

Later on that same day, Anders informed Hawke that her employment had been suspended indefinitely, which came as no surprise. What did catch her off guard, though, was the point that it was not as punishment but as a means to allow her time to recover. She understood that she would not be paid for her time off, but she thought she might never stop being amazed at the lengths people would go to for her, to make sure she’d be okay.

After what she’d just done, after what it had done to all of them, it made her feel sick.

She was curled up in a ball in a hospital bed when Anders came in to check on her once again. She was still stuck in the clinic, despite the fact that it was no longer medically necessary, but there appeared to be an agreement between the rest of the crew that it wouldn’t be right to let her leave. The Gallows was, of course, at least far from being considered any kind of option, so they did the only thing they could by keeping her where she was. She didn’t move when Anders entered the room, couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wanted him to turn around and leave and never come back every bit as much as she wanted him to hold her close and never let go.

He sat down in the chair that remained by the bed, which she was still astounded by the number of times it had been occupied since she’d been there, even by the fact that is was usually by Anders himself despite how much sense that made. That was where he could be found if he wasn’t tending to an actual patient or on a quick run up the stairs to check on his cat, and she’d even caught him sleeping there. She thought how little Pounce must have seen of him since the incident, and promptly filed it under more things to guilt herself about.

“How are you feeling, love?”

She would not deny the sincerity of the affection that had not yet left his voice when speaking to her, but how hard he was trying to hide how much what she’d done had hurt him was terribly plain to see. It made sense, of course, for she knew that if she had succeeded it would have made her the second person he’d had a real relationship with to leave him in such a way, would have made her two out of two. She couldn’t even pretend to imagine what he was going through, what she’d done to him even above anyone else. He still managed to blame himself for Karl, after all, so she knew well that there was no way he wasn’t finding himself at fault for this, knowledge she simply filed away with all the rest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hesitantly, not for the first time but so far from enough to truly matter, and her voice shook from the truth of it, from that truth’s many layers.

She still had not turned to look at him, and she kept her head down as well even when she heard him move his chair, when she felt him slowly, cautiously place his hand upon her shoulder like he was waiting for her to pull back and tell him to go fuck himself, and the worst part was that she genuinely thought about doing exactly that.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice soothing even in the midst of the disaster she’d brought down on him, on everyone. “So am I.”

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, so quietly she was sure he didn’t hear it, and at that she moved to make eye contact with him for the first time since the attempt on her life.

He offered a small smile when she did, which would normally have been comforting, but it looked so wrong against the contrast of his bloodshot eyes, the sight of which she was tired of herself for so often being the cause. Her own began to burn in response as the floodgates opened. She’d wept when she first realised she was still there to do so, but once she’d calmed then, she found she was too numb to continue, and she’d been simply going through the motions since, too disconnected to do anything else. Feeling came rushing back to her when she looked at him, however, and then she was afraid she might never be able to stop.

“No, Anders…please…you’ve nothing to be sorry for, oh Maker…” Her words were cracked and desperate, and she hated how selfish it was that nothing made her want to die more than having to be there to have to face the hurt trying to had caused. “I told you that you wouldn’t lose me but then I…I promise it was never you I wanted to leave but…Maker, I’m so sorry, please. Please say you won’t forgive me this time, you can’t…you can’t forgive _this._ Please, love.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he answered delicately, but the pain was still too evident in his voice for her to believe him. “Trista, you know…you _know_ that I understand what you’re going through.”

She nodded, terrified to say another word, uncertain if she could even form anymore through her sobbing, her body shaking, which only grew more intense when he stood up and leaned over her, taking her into his arms as best he could from how they were positioned. She struggled out of his grasp, wanting nothing more than for him to hate her as much as she hated herself, and when he did pull back she saw the dejection in his face and forced herself to sit. She reached for him and he didn’t miss a beat in answering the unspoken call, and she gripped him as tightly as she could as she buried her face into his chest and begged herself to stop crying.

He let her keep going, only speaking further to whisper tiny reassurances, murmurs of “it’s alright” and “love” and “here,” each one breaking her heart a little more. She had done everything in her power to make herself unworthy of such care and concern, and each continued breath of endearment shattered her in new ways, bombarded her with emotion she could not name, that she did not even know she could feel.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, she quieted enough to look back up at him, and he planted a quick, loving kiss on her lips.

“You should hate me,” she told him before she could stop herself, to which he only shook his head.

“I could never,” he replied with that same small smile. “I’ve been on your end of this before, and I would have given anything to have someone there who loved me as much as I love you when I was, and I promise you that I will do everything I can to show you _how fucking much_ I mean that. I am here, for whatever you need.”

“I don’t deserve you.” More honesty she hadn’t meant to allow herself, but it slipped through the cracks all the same, and he gestured back the same way he did at her previous statement.

He ran his thumbs along her cheeks to wipe away what tears hadn’t dried, and then he kissed each one before he looked back at her.

“Move in with me,” he said suddenly, and by the look on his face he was just as surprised by the offer as she was, but then his resolve hardened, taking her aback even more. “I mean it, Trista. Stay with me and don’t ever leave. I want you right here until the day…”

He cut himself off, the end of his thought obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish even such a standard, typically innocuous phrase.

“Anders,” she started, speaking his name with every ounce of affection she held for the man it belonged to. “You know that I can’t. I have nearly another ten months on the lease with Aveline and…and we still haven’t known each other _that_ long, love.”

“Long enough to be sure about this,” he rebutted, and she couldn’t possibly understand how he could believe such a thing even as she realised she did, too. “After your lease is up, then. Or, fuck, whenever Donnic moves in. We both know that’s coming sooner than later.”

“True,” she smiled back, something she hadn’t done in days. “I…I’ll think about it, alright?”

“Alright,” he said with relief, which he punctuated with another kiss. “Will you at least stay with me for a little while now? I just…I can’t bear to let you out of my sight quite yet and I can’t imagine you want to stay cooped up in _here_ any longer.”

“Do you actually want me to stay with you because you want me to stay with you, or because you don’t trust me?” The words burned in her throat as she spoke them, and she abruptly cursed herself before he could answer. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that wasn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” he admitted. “Of course I’m afraid to leave you alone right now. Really, though, can you blame me?”

“No,” she agreed forlornly.

“But I do still want you here with me because I love you, because I love having you here, and because, well…” He swallowed hard, and for a second it looked like he wasn’t sure he should continue, but he looked down and added, “Because you feel like home, and this place never really did until you walked into it.”

“Yeah…me, too,” she answered with a strange sadness to her response, only then realising how much she felt the same, a feeling so familiar to whenever she was with him. “Anders, I…I love you so much.”

Words were not enough, might never be, but she had nothing else to give him, and she hoped that he would accept it, would understand all that laid behind it, all she wanted to bare but didn’t know how.

“Let’s go, love. Pounce misses you.”

He was so gentle, so full of love she couldn’t quite figure out how to take, so she simply nodded her agreement, separating herself from him just enough to bring herself to stand, and he promptly he took her hand.

“What time even is it?” She had no idea, as she hadn’t even been able to will herself to look at her phone since she’d last used it during her catastrophic breakdown.

“After hours,” he laughed. “Come on.”

“Can we make a run for cigarettes? I might not be responsible for my actions if I don’t get one soon.” She kept her tone light, almost believably so, and he chuckled in response.

“Sure, we’ll do that first,” he agreed and quickly reached into his pocket, satisfied that he had his keys, and turned towards the front door. “I told you, love, whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” she smiled sincerely. She still wasn’t sure what she’d done to earn this, was certain there was no way she had, but she thought to herself that maybe she might yet come out of this. That maybe, just maybe, with enough time and the support she was given that she could never have possibly brought herself to ask for, perhaps one day she could look back on this without such disdain, without such vile regret.

It was a nice thought, at the very least.


	37. Unexpected Revelry from the Aftershocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: continuing references to the past couple of chapters, one very vague reference to eating disorders, a couple of quick references to character deaths
> 
> This chapter is mostly just fluff. Like, so much fluff. Certainly the fluffiest thing I have ever written, as well as my first attempt at domestic fluff. Honestly, just...flufffluffuff. They needed it, though, let's be real here.
> 
> Dedicating this one to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) and [winebearcat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winebearcat).
> 
> ["Rebel Rebel" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/U16Xg_rQZkA)   
>  ["Let's Dance" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/Af6jOq0dWqo)   
>  ["Moonage Daydream" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/JFDj3shXvco)   
>  ["Changes" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/pl3vxEudif8)   
>  ["Golden Years" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/HRD0ghlFSgk)

_“Hey, babe, your hair’s alright. Hey, babe, let’s stay out tonight…”_

Hawke jumped when Anders came up behind her and ruffled her hair in response to the music, and both of them followed with a burst of laughter. She was cooking dinner, and they were caught in the unexpectedly wonderful unspoken agreement to pretend everything was normal for the time being.

_“You like me and I like it all. We like dancing and you look divine…”_

It was a Tuesday evening, but the Crew had agreed to take the week off. So much had happened, and everyone apparently just needed a break. Karaoke was still going on the next night, so they simply planned to regroup then and go from there.

_“You love bands when they’re playing hard. You want more and you want it fast…”_

She’d learned that her episode had actually only lasted not even a full couple of days, making it Thursday night when the crash and all that entailed had occurred. She was surprised to find out that her first memory after the fact had been Saturday, although that explained why the clinic had been so quiet when she initially realised she was there. Anders kept his regular business hours to Monday through Friday during the day save for emergencies, which he’d once revealed he only allowed himself to do because Lirene had made him promise, and Hawke had been the only eventful patient over the weekend. She still had no idea about what might have happened in the interim, if anything at all, and she decided to just leave it alone. She was going to move on from this as well as she could, that much she had determined. At least, she didn’t see what other choice she had.

_“Rebel, rebel, you’ve torn your dress. Rebel, rebel, your face is a mess. Rebel, rebel, how could they know? Hot tramp, I love you so…”_

Hawke and Anders both belted out the end of the chorus especially dramatically, and she could swear when she looked back at him that his expression was the sweetest, most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Perhaps “normal” wasn’t even quite the way to describe the way they were acting, but “content.” They were doing a great job of it, too, so much so that she was almost able to get out of her own head enough to appreciate it, maybe even start to believe it.

She’d spent all of her time with Anders since ending her personal stay in the clinic, serving as volunteer downstairs while he was working and keeping him company when there was downtime. It had been an incredibly slow day there, which was generally a positive considering what the alternative implied, so he closed up a half hour early and they went grocery shopping. She was relieved it didn’t take any effort to get him to agree to the idea that he couldn’t expect her to let him watch over her as he was without adequate reciprocation, although she wasn’t really sure “adequate” was even something she’d ever truly be able to achieve, so she decided the first order of business would be an Antivan-inspired recipe she’d found on the internet for the two of them.

_“So what you want to know, calamity’s child…”_

Anders had made them an upbeat Bowie playlist specifically for the occasion, and if anyone who didn’t know any better looked in on them, they would appear to be the happiest couple in all of Thedas. Each of them wore only oversized shirts and underwear, and they both sang along loudly as they teased each other with ridiculous, uncoordinated little dances which hardly even attempted to keep in time with the music around the kitchen. Pounce was clearly terribly confused by the spectacle, which only made the entire situation more entertaining to them somehow.

_“What can I do for you? Looks like you’ve been there, too…”_

The pot of water on the stove finally reached its boiling point, and she gestured at him to join her from across the small room, where he’d knelt down to pay attention to the cat who’d taken to whining at them.

“Hand me that box, love? On the counter.” She was smiling, and she thought she might even mean it, despite how strange a feeling it was considering what exactly had led them to this precise point.

“This one?” He held up the pasta he’d procured from the shopping bag, and he promptly delivered it to her at her nod.

_“Ooh, your face is a mess…”_

He kissed her cheek as she deposited the contents of the box into the water, and she could still only be amazed by how nice this all was. She wasn’t typically the domestic type, although she’d never previously been in a situation that would warrant her being so, but the dynamic unfolding before them felt completely natural all the same, just as it usually did whenever she was at Anders’s apartment.

She let herself wonder if eventually he’d also participate in such tasks, and she nearly stopped herself at the realisation that such thoughts meant she was genuinely fantasising about having any kind of actual future with Anders, much less having a future at all, before he saved her from her own mind by interjecting, “Need anything else from me?”

“Yeah, make yourself useful,” she chuckled back at him. “Chop up some garlic?”

“Sure thing, love,” he replied as he reached back into the bag for the ingredients requested of him, but they both instantly stopped what they were doing to mimic the opening vocalisations of the next track when the song changed, looking directly at each other and pointing enthusiastically.

_“Let’s dance, put on your red shoes and dance the blues…”_

It felt like home, and she briefly reminisced about her father. She almost said something out loud but quickly decided against it; she wanted to enjoy this evening for what it was, a luxury she hadn’t ever really allowed herself to such an extent. The feeling was only made that much more profound when she felt Anders come up behind her again to place his hands on her hips and move them side to side along with his own.

_“Let’s sway, while the colour lights up your face. Let’s sway, sway through the crowd to an empty space…”_

She properly giggled at that before swatting him away. “You ass. You’re supposed to be helping.”

“I am helping,” he grinned before grabbing a knife from a nearby drawer and moving back to the counter. “You’re smiling, aren’t you?”

She simply blinked at him for a second, unsure how to form words to give the sentiment the response it deserved, but from the way he looked at her it seemed he understood, and they both resumed belting along with the music when the chorus hit.

_“If you say run, I’ll run with you. If you say hide, we’ll hide. Because my love for you would break my heart in two if you should fall into my arms and tremble like a flower…”_

Anders finally turned back towards the counter and started on the task she’d given him while she patiently watched over the pot before her, and they both continued happily singing along as Pounce jingled his way over to Hawke and rubbed up against her legs.

_“Let’s dance, for fear your grace should fall. Let’s dance, for fear tonight is all. Let’s sway, you could look into my eyes. Let’s sway, under the moonlight, the serious moonlight…”_

“Aww,” she laughed in the cat’s direction. “Poor kitty, so starved for attention, I know…”

“He has treats in the pantry if you wanted to give him some,” Anders noted. “On the top shelf.”

She nodded with a smile and gave the cooking pasta a quick stir before making her way over to grab them. “How many should I give him?”

“No more than four,” he answered. “He’s spoiled enough.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” She retrieved the bag she was looking for and poured a few into her hand, met with thankful purrs when Pounce quickly devoured her offerings and then ran over to Anders.

_“Because my love for you would break my heart in two…”_

“You little brat,” he said with a grin. “You got what you wanted, now leave the grown-ups in peace if you don’t mind.”

“He clearly does,” Hawke mused, and Anders brought over what he’d finished and tossed it into the previously untouched saucepan that also sat on the stove. “I appreciate your word choice there, too, love. Not ‘humans,’ but ‘grown-ups.’”

“Yeah, and?” His smile was infectious, and she playfully shook her head in response.

_“Let’s dance, put on your red shoes and dance the blues. Let’s sway, under the moonlight, the serious moonlight…”_

“Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. Pass me the olive oil?”

She turned on the burner to start on the other part of their meal, and the two of them had a short burst of running back and forth between counter and stove to finish collecting the remaining ingredients. Anders drained the pasta once it was sufficiently cooked and set out dishes while Hawke made quick work of completing the rest.

_“I’m an alligator, I’m a mama-papa comin’ for you. I’m the space invader, I’ll be a rock n’ rollin’ bitch for you…”_

“Want anything to drink, love?” Anders asked after he’d taken their dinners out to the coffee table and Hawke moved everything she’s used to prepare it over to the sink.

“Have any wine?” Her question was hopeful, but she was still unsurprised when he shook his head.

“For you, no,” he said with a light tone, but she understood the serious implications of the denial all the same.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll just have water, then.”

_“Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe, put your ray gun to my head. Press your space face close to mine, love; freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah…”_

They made their way to the couch, drinks in hand, and as soon as they set them down Anders grabbed Hawke and pulled her in close to kiss her hard.

_“Don’t fake it, baby, lay the real thing on me. The church of man, love, is such a holy place to be. Make me, baby, make me jump into the air, make me know you really care…”_

“You don’t want your food to get cold, do you?” She said with a laugh once he let go.

“Tempting as that may be,” he answered with a smile, and she hastily moved to place another kiss on his forehead before facing forward. “You did work so hard on it.”

“Damn right I did,” she teased. “So for the love of Andraste, please eat.”

_“Press your space face close to mine, love; freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah…”_

“That’s really good, Trista,” he said after he took his first bite, prompting a pleased grin from her. “Thank you.”

“Well, thank you, too, love,” she replied somewhat uncomfortably. “You did buy groceries.”

“You’re most welcome,” he nodded, and the affection in his voice even at such a simple statement served as panacea for the toxicity she still felt coursing through her veins, even if she knew her system had cleared in the more literal sense.

She’d felt awfully guilty having to rely on him to cover their shopping expenses, as she knew he was barely any better off than she after losing her income for the time. It helped that at least he didn’t have rent to worry about, but the clinic still had its fair share of overhead. Lirene had disclosed to her when she first started working there that she provided a great deal of help through donations she surreptitiously accepted at the shop, for anyone who knew him knew that Anders charged his patients as little as he possibly could, and those who genuinely could not pay weren’t charged for his services at all. It was yet another thing she found to love about him, but it left him with very little to his name and she was determined to see to his needs in all the ways he couldn’t manage for himself, which only made her current situation feel all the more burdensome. She took some solace in the fact that at least this meant he was eating, however, and she tried her best to shift her focus to that aspect.

_“Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe…”_

They continued to eat in a contented silence, save for Pounce occasionally trying to jump onto the table to sniff around, only to be waved off by Anders.

_“Press your space face close to mine, love…”_

It wasn’t much longer before they finished and they took their dishes out to the sink with the rest of it.

“I’ll do these later,” Anders said aloud as they dropped everything in.

“I’ll help,” Hawke added quickly, grateful that her offer was met only with a nod and a smile.

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He asked after a moment of just standing around in the kitchen. “I figured we’d stay in, but we could watch something or…”

He awkwardly trailed off, clearly out of ideas past the one, and she simply shrugged.

“I’m going to head outside before anything else,” she told him and then immediately turned around to retrieve her cigarettes from the bedroom. Varric had bought her a carton as a “get well” gesture, complete with a bow on top, which had amused Anders to an unreasonable degree. He never really commented on her smoking despite his profession, except for the one sarcastic aside he’d made to her what then felt like so very long ago, but he’d found the context of Varric’s gift to be absolutely hilarious all the same.

_“I still don’t know what I was waiting for, and my time was running wild. A million dead-end streets, every time I thought I’d got it made it seemed the taste was not so sweet…”_

She returned to the kitchen and Anders appeared not to have moved from his spot, except that his phone was then in his hand with the volume turned down just slightly, and he had put on a hoodie and held another up for her.

_“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, turn and face the strain. Ch-ch-changes, don’t have to be a richer man…”_

“I already know you’re not going to put on pants,” he chuckled, “but at least take this.”

“Sure thing,” she responded with a soft laugh, and she hastily put on the extra layer he provided before she made her way towards the window.

_“Time may change me, but I can’t trace time…”_

As expected, he crawled out after her, but she was surprised when he grabbed her from behind and held her tight against him.

“Do you mind?” She giggled a bit and playfully tried to squirm her out from his grip, but he held on. “I’m going to need a little room.”

_“I watch the ripples change their size but never leave the stream of warm impermanence and so the days float through my eyes…”_

“No, you’re not,” he replied, full of warmth. “I’m keeping you right here.”

“I’m not going to get smoke in your face, Anders,” she said more seriously, although her tone remained light, and he reluctantly let her go. She sat down at the top of the fire escape steps once he did, and she patted the space to her left to indicate that she still wanted him to sit with her.

_“Ch-ch-changes, turn and face the strange. Don’t tell them to grow up and out of it. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, turn and face the strange. What’s your shame? You’ve left us up to our necks in it…”_

She lit a cigarette as he took his place beside her, and he set his phone down behind them so as not to muffle the sound of the music still playing from it.

He rested his head against her shoulder, and she tilted her face upwards and further to the right to exhale as well away from him as she could, an effort she followed by poking at him with her left hand until he gave her the reaction she was looking for.

_“Strange fascination, fascinating me…”_

“Hey, that tickles!” He exclaimed, and he returned the favour until she playfully smacked him away.

“I know,” she laughed. “That was the point.”

This was normal. This was content. They could do this, she could do this.

This was safe.

“Asshole,” he teased.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” she retorted with a smirk, and she kept her head at an angle even as she placed it against his, careful to remain mindful of their positions while she took another drag.

_“Look out you rock n’ rollers, ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Ch-ch-changes, turn and face the strange. Pretty soon now, you’re gonna get older. Time may change me, but I can’t trace time…”_

“I wish we could stay like this forever, love,” he spoke up when he took her free hand into his own, and she nodded against him.

“Yeah, this is nice,” she agreed. “This is…this is perfect. Remind me why we can’t again?”

Her tone was clearly joking, but Anders sighed in response all the same, and she knew he meant it just as much as she did, even though they both knew the moment was ephemeral. She was in no hurry to let it pass them by, however, and when she felt the calm, deep breath he took in next, and the way his shoulders relaxed with it, she was sure that he wasn’t, either.

_“Golden years…”_

His thumb moved in gentle circles over hers, and she thought perhaps she should say something when he didn’t answer, but she worried anything she might have to add would only ruin the strange sense of serenity that seemed to have overtaken them.

_“Don’t let me hear that life’s taking you nowhere, angel. Come get up, my baby; look at that sky, life’s just begun. Nights are warm and the day is young…”_

She looked up at the unintended lyrical prompting, happy to see there were actually a few clusters of stars visible, which was rare for Kirkwall. She’d found that city life suited her, even if she wasn’t necessarily a fan of the one in which she happened to live, but watching the night sky light up above her was the one thing she did tend to miss about the more desolate nature of her old home.

_“That’s my baby. Lost, that’s all. Once I’m begging you, save her little soul…”_

She drew in another long breath from the cigarette between her lips before she finally whispered, “I don’t think I ever want this night to end.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, matching her tone completely, and the sincerity behind just that short exchange carried a peculiar weight. It wasn’t the type she was so accustomed to words holding, though, but more of a comforting kind, like a blanket that wrapped itself more thoroughly around them when he spoke again to ask, “So have you given any more thought to my offer?”

_“Last night they loved you, opening doors and pulling strings, angel. Come get up, my baby. In walked luck and you looked in time. Never look back, walk tall, act fine…”_

“I already told you—”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She shook her head lightly as she put out the end of her cigarette and nudged him away so they could head back inside.

_“I’ll stick with you, baby, for a thousand years; nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years…”_

Hawke left her things on the countertop and they headed straight for the couch, where Anders seemed even more reluctant to allow any space between them than he had been outside.

“Are you alright, love?” She reached for the arm he didn’t have wrapped around her and kissed his hand several times before he pulled it back to place it over her, too, and he kissed her head when she was as close against him as she could be.

“Promise you won’t go?”

“Anders, I…I honestly wish I could, but…”

He separated just enough to get a good look at her, and when she met his eyes she could see the wheels turning, could see all the emotion lying behind them. “No, love, I mean…I mean…”

“Anders,” she started again, unsure how to continue when she then realised exactly what he was trying to say.

_“Don’t cry, my sweet, don’t break my heart. Doing alright but you gotta get smart. Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day. I believe, oh lord, I believe all the way…”_

“Please,” he whispered delicately, and she reached to cup his cheek as he did. “I know there’s no way to guarantee you’ll keep it, but just tell me that you promise.”

_“Run for the shadows, run for the shadows, run for the shadows in these golden years…”_

“I can’t,” he continued, “I can’t go through that again.”

His voice cracked subtly at the “again,” and she knew its intention, knew well that it did not only apply to her.

“I promise,” she answered, and for the first time in much too long, she found that she genuinely planned to mean it. “I love you so much.”

_“I’ll stick with you, baby, for a thousand years; nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years…”_

“I love you, too, Trista,” he responded, and he broke into a smile at the words, his expression radiating with just how intensely he felt it.

“So,” she began after a moment, “did you still want to watch something?”

“Labyrinth?” His suggestion was answered with a nod, and he stood up to grab his copy from the bottom of his tiny entertainment centre.

“Keeping with a theme, are we? Maker, though,” she laughed, “I think the last time I watched that was with my father.”

“You know, the more you talk about him, the cooler he sounds,” he replied warmly as he inserted the movie into his DVD player.

“You have no idea,” she told him with a strange sense of longing, but it was okay. She was, oddly enough, actually okay.

He hit “play” upon sitting back down, and she leaned into him, his arm around her back and her head on his shoulder, an unfamiliar but entirely welcome aura of peace surrounding them.

This was normal. This was content. This was safe. And it was beautiful.


	38. Where We Go from Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to suicide/attempt, referenced dysfunctional family
> 
> Some angsty moments, of course, but this chapter is mostly just cute shit and a friendly reminder of how much _I absolutely fucking love_ the chosen family trope. Because.
> 
> ["Ace of Spades" by Motorhead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcf7DnHi54g)   
>  ["Seven Years in Tibet" by David Bowie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84RBZb8OxT0)   
>  ["Prisoner of Society" by the Living End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVtD4qMy5Hc)   
>  ["Victorious" by Panic! at the Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUChk0lxF44)

“Oh fuck me,” Hawke whispered to herself when the door to the clinic opened and Lirene walked in.

It was almost closing time and Anders was doing something or other in the back to get ready to shut down after a fairly steady day, so Hawke had sat herself in the waiting area up front to check her phone while he completed his work.

“Hello,” she said directly to Lirene from her chair after a moment. She wanted to minimise the awkwardness she anticipated between them as much as she could, although she wasn’t sure how much success such an effort could possibly bear. “Anders is just finishing up…whatever it is he’s doing, but I can let him know you’re here.”

“No, dear, that’s quite alright,” Lirene answered gently. “I actually came to see you.”

“Oh?” She was certain she wasn’t ready for what the impending conversation might entail, but she also knew that she in no position to refuse it.

“How _are_ you?” She took the seat right next to Hawke and turned so she was looking at her, and her gaze was piercing despite its gentle intention.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Hawke replied automatically, reverting to the more professional response, already forgetting that this was a personal visit.

“Really, now,” Lirene said flatly. “I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that Anders has told me about what’s gone on with you recently.”

“Of course,” she nodded uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I know, it’s okay,” Lirene cut her off with a smile. “Are _you,_ though?”

“As much as I can be, I think,” she answered honestly. “I am grateful for the support I’ve been given, but I know getting past all this isn’t going to be easy.”

There was something about Lirene that made Hawke want to confide in her, that made her feel safe in her presence. Anders saw her as something of a mother figure, and Hawke could understand why; she was a bit older, and she had just that right kind of caring nature to her that could easily come across as maternal to those who’d lacked such experience with their own mothers. Given that Anders and Hawke could both claim as much, despite their very different reasons, the way they each reacted to her was not to be unexpected, and it seemed Lirene understood.

She carefully placed a comforting hand on Hawke’s shoulder and nodded. “I can only imagine how long the road ahead of you will be, and I don’t envy it for a second. I’ve been fortunate enough not to have to suffer through what you and Anders have, and Maker only knows what all I haven’t yet managed to figure out about him, but you at least have each other.”

The sentiment hurt more than it should have, crushed beneath the weight of Hawke’s attempted premature departure, and her immediate thought process was not for a moment lost on Lirene.

“So don’t you dare ever put him through that again,” she added, keeping her demeanor calm even through the betraying harshness of the words she spoke. “I know that must seem terribly insensitive of me, but I just couldn’t bear…”

“I know,” Hawke said quietly. “You’re very protective of him and I know he appreciates it. I appreciate it, too. It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for him like you do.”

“Don’t discount yourself there, dear,” Lirene replied quickly, with affection returned to her speech entirely. “He never used to smile the way he does since he met you. You’re more than he ever bargained for, and in more ways than one, but we both know he’ll happily take the bad with the good for as long as you’ll let him. That man has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, and what he does here each day is almost as much a gift as he is, himself. He’s been through so much, and…”

“I know,” Hawke said again, suddenly strangely grateful for the conversation at hand. “And, umm, thank you for your patience with me. I know it’s more for his sake, but it still means a lot.”

“Well, it’s not _just_ for his sake,” Lirene smiled. “Sure, I gave you a job I was never hiring for because he asked me to, but I’ve loved having you around and I do hope you’re planning to come back.”

“Of course,” she answered a little too quickly, the question one she was previously unsure what she was going to do with. “Thank you, Lirene. Truly.”

“You just let me know whenever you’re ready,” Lirene told her. “Or whenever you need the money badly enough, whichever comes first.”

Hawke chuckled a little at the comment with a nod. “Will do, thank you.”

“You can stop thanking me, dear,” Lirene added. “And don’t worry, you’ll get your Satinalia bonus either way.”

“Oh,” Hawke started, but she was promptly cut off by Lirene holding up a hand.

“No arguments,” she said, and Hawke only nodded again. “You and Anders should do something nice for the holiday. Maker knows he’s probably never really had one for himself, so it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re a good friend,” Hawke responded sincerely. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Speaking of which,” Lirene said as she rose to stand, “I really should pop back there to say hello while I’m here. I’ll talk to you later, Hawke.”

“See you,” she replied, sure the relief she felt over the exchange was completely obvious.

***

Hawke was nervous walking into the Hanged Man and Anders must have noticed, taking her hand and squeezing it as they opened the door and made their way into the tavern to greet their friends.

Everyone else had already arrived, grinning wildly as Hawke and Anders entered the room. Even Aveline was there, although she usually skipped mid-week karaoke, and Hawke was especially surprised to see that she’d managed to convince Donnic to join them.

“Nice to see you back in the real world,” Varric laughed when they sat themselves at their usual table with the rest of the group.

“Does this place _really_ count?” Hawke teased in attempt to keep the night casual.

“This is the _only_ place that does as far as I’m concerned,” he smiled back.

“Is that really how you feel? I’d never have guessed you held such loyalty for this shithole,” Fenris replied sarcastically with an unapologetic smirk.

“Oh fuck off, Broody, you know you love it,” Varric retorted before his demeanor changed abruptly. “Oh shit, Hawke, were you expecting—”

“Hey,” Carver said with a nod, as Varric cut himself off at the younger Hawke’s proximity to them.

“Hey,” Hawke said with a painfully forced smile and hoped that how uncomfortable she felt at her brother’s presence would not be as obvious to him as it seemed to her. “How’s it going?”

“Well enough,” he answered as he pulled up a chair. “How about you?”

“Alright,” she lied. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him he was unwelcome after the strides they’d already made towards building a proper relationship, but she knew his being there was going to add a level of difficulty to the evening she had not anticipated and was far from happy to deal with all the same.

Norah came up to the table a moment later, and Hawke felt the relief wash over her, not only for the promise of distraction the drinks would provide, but even for the momentary distraction from the very act of ordering them.

Hawke eagerly started, promptly speaking up before anyone else could. “I’ll have a—”

“Hawke, no!”

Anders, Varric, Merrill, Fenris, Aveline, and Donnic interrupted in unison, and Hawke shook her head at them in clear annoyance.

“Hawke, yes,” she snarked back, not even bothering to conceal the unjust bitterness attached. “Come on, when are we going to get past…”

It was as though she’d already forgotten about her brother sitting right by her, and she trailed off even though she knew full well it no longer mattered that she didn’t finish her thought.

“Get past what?” Carver asked quickly, predictably, and Hawke only gritted her teeth and looked down at the table.

“Nothing?” Hawke offered her best attempt at an innocent smile, but she was painfully aware of the fact that her brother—or, realistically, anyone—would not be fooled so easily.

“I’ll come back in a few minutes,” Norah stated, reminding them that she was even still standing there, and Varric flashed her an appreciative grin before she walked off.

“Trista…” Carver’s eyes crinkled at her, and she let out an exasperated sigh at her own negligence.

“I’ve got this,” Aveline interjected, and Hawke nodded gratefully. “Carver, shall we talk outside?”

Hawke hastily lit a cigarette while her flatmate and her brother, both of whom at that point claimed the same level of awkward semi-estrangement to her, exited the tavern, and Anders placed a hand on her back.

“He deserves to know, Trista,” he said after a brief moment, and she hated that she couldn’t really disagree.

“He’s probably going to tell Mother, though,” she noted with an obvious hint of anxiety at the thought. “I know him, and I know he means well, but there’s no way he’s going to keep something like this from her. She’s…she’s going to be so fucking _disappointed_ in me.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” Merrill said quickly. “Wouldn’t she just be happy you’re alright? Worried about you, sure, but—”

“No, Daisy, unfortunately Hawke’s right,” Varric cut in with an appropriate irritation to his voice. “This is…this is probably going to be quite the shitshow.”

“At least I know to expect that from her, I guess,” Hawke said sadly. “But, umm, Donnic…how’s Aveline been?”

“Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s, well, certainly far more distraught than she wants to let on,” he admitted. _“However,_ she’s not mad at you, Hawke. She knows you think that, but it’s more that she’s just been having trouble dealing with what happened. You’re a sister to her, you know that, and she loves you, but…”

“This was just so soon after losing Sunshine,” Varric finished for him.

“Exactly,” Donnic said. “She’ll come around, Hawke, I promise. She just needs a little time. Umm, I do, though, have something I wanted to show you…”

He quickly glanced around the room and when Aveline was still nowhere in sight, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box, and he opened it to reveal a beautiful rose gold band bearing a large, round topaz. He allowed everyone to get a look at it and then nervously stuffed it back into his pocket, his eyes still watching the door.

“It’s beautiful, Donnic!” Hawke exclaimed happily. “Does this mean what I think it means? When are planning to give it to her?”

“Yes, it does,” he answered with a wide smile. “I haven’t figured out the ‘when’ yet, though. Do you really think she’ll like it? I know Wesley gave her a diamond but I’m honestly not very keen on supporting that industry, plus the colours sort of reminded me of her marigolds.”

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful!” Merrill chimed in with pure excitement.

“She’ll love it,” Varric assured. “Don’t you worry about that for a second.”

“That helps, thank you,” Donnic said, the relief evident. “On an entirely different note, however, there is one other thing I wanted to mention. I was on office duty today and a very angry gentleman who claimed to be a politician in on business from Tevinter stopped by to see if there was anything I could do about the series of vaguely threatening messages he’s been getting over the past few weeks.”

Fenris’s eyes widened and Hawke could see that Anders and Varric were both having as difficult a time holding back laughter as she was.

“I pretended I didn’t recognise the handwriting when he presented them,” Donnic continued, “but I obviously _know_ they’re from Aveline. Would any of you happen to know anything about this?”

A moment passed and everyone else glanced at each other around the table, but no one answered.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Donnic said, almost amused. “The whole thing was a bit suspicious, I’ll admit. He refused to elaborate on what kind of business brought him to the Free Marches, and I can only imagine Aveline must have good reason to put herself out like that.”

“What did they say?” Fenris asked hesitantly, but Hawke could see the awe in his eyes.

“I didn’t keep them, sorry,” Donnic replied. “I shredded every last note as soon as he left. I wasn’t going to leave that kind of evidence lying around, of course. Little things, though, as far as I remember, like ‘I know what you did’ and ‘you are not welcome here.’ Nothing too outright, but certainly the sort of thing that might cause concern for anyone receiving them.”

“Did it work?” Fenris asked a little too quickly, and promptly cleared his throat. “I mean, do you know if he left, or…”

“I had another guard follow him out,” Donnic nodded. “I didn’t tell her why and thankfully she didn’t ask, but she told me that she saw him board a train destined for Minrathous. Not surprising that he just left like that, I suppose, though. He was rather pissy that I couldn’t offer him any further assistance.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Fenris sighed.

There was another moment of silence where it seemed no one really knew how they should respond before Donnic spoke again. “Should I even ask?”

“Best not,” Anders replied, and Fenris nodded at him in clear thanks.

“Fair enough,” Donnic laughed slightly. “Well, anyway—oh, look…”

Hawke glanced back to see Aveline and Carver heading towards them, both of them visibly shaken by their conversation. Aveline resumed her seat once the pair reached the table, but Carver remained standing.

“Trista,” he said, his tone uneasy. “Can we…”

He cocked his head towards the door, and she took in a sharp breath to try to brace herself for whatever was about to unfold.

“It’ll be alright, love,” Anders whispered, and she quickly turned to kiss him before she stood to join her brother.

She lit another cigarette as soon as they were on the other side of the door, a scenario that was all too familiar even though Carver replaced Anders for this particular occasion.

“So, umm,” Carver began, but he seemed to be utterly at a loss for words, something Hawke would never previously have been able to imagine seeing from her brother to such an extent.

He looked as if he might try to speak again, but instead he turned and wrapped his arms around her, and she carefully returned the gesture, trying her best to be mindful of the cigarette between her fingers.

“Please don’t go,” he said delicately. “I feel like I’ve only just really gotten into your life, and for this to happen so soon after…”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in return, defaulting to what had become her go-to answer by then, unsure how else to respond.

“You don’t need to apologise,” he replied gently. “I can never understand what you go through. I can’t possibly imagine how difficult it must be and I’m sorry if I’m being selfish but please, don’t you leave me, too.”

“It would be _terribly_ rude of me to stick you with Mother all alone like that, wouldn’t it?” She pulled back to return to smoking with forced laughter, which Carver returned, and his seemed much more genuine.

“You know there’s no way I can’t tell her about this,” he added, just as she’d anticipated.

“Are you sure? I mean, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, right?” She offered her lighter when he pulled out his own cigarettes, which he took with a thankful nod, although he immediately followed with a shake of his head.

“If it’s really been _that_ bad for you, she needs to know,” Caver replied anxiously. “I mean, if you…if it ever does come to it, she _is_ the one who’s going to have to bury you.”

“It was a _mistake,_ Carver,” she said emphatically. “It was just a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“Can you really make that promise?” He handed her back her lighter, which she pocketed with a long sigh.

She didn’t know how to tell him why she really thought she could, how terribly her survival had hurt, how she was in no hurry to feel that level of failure again. She couldn’t put such thoughts into words, especially not to him, so she answered simply, reluctantly, “No.”

“Aveline wouldn’t tell me anything about where you were taken or who treated you,” he added, “and I’m sure there’s good reason for that, so at least you don’t have to worry about me divulging those kinds of details.”

“Well, I guess that’s something,” she replied with a sarcastic chuckle. “Sorry, I just…I just don’t need her on my ass right now. I’m feeling better but I’m not…I’m not ready for her.”

“I get that,” he said sympathetically. “More than you probably think I do. But I can’t keep this from her, surely you understand.”

“I do,” she admitted. “Just don’t be surprised when it’s your ass she’s all over instead when I’m still not taking her calls.”

“Fair is fair,” he smirked, and he jokingly reached with his free hand to shake hers. “So we have found an agreement!”

“If you’re sure you’re really up for it,” she laughed.

“Eh, I can handle her,” he smiled and then returned to smoking. “Well, most of the time.”

She took a long drag from her own before asking her next question, somewhat nervous even though she was certain she already knew the answer. “So we’re good?”

“Of course we are,” he said affectionately. “Just…do try not to scare anyone like that again anytime soon, alright?”

“Fair is fair,” she repeated, and she took a final puff and flicked the end into the street, completely forgetting about the outdoor ashtray behind her. “Shall we?”

She looked towards the door and he finished his cigarette as well and turned to join her.

Isabela was just finishing up her usual introductions when they walked back in, and then Varric was called to the stand.

“Alright, everyone, before we get started I’ve got a big announcement,” he practically shouted into the microphone. “As of this morning, the Hanged Man is officially under new management!”

His statement was met with resounding applause and a few cheers, most notably from Norah and Corff, which made Hawke wonder what the previous management had been like, or if perhaps they really did just like Varric that much.

“Oh good, so this asshole is my boss now,” Isabela laughed into the second microphone, and she and Varric playfully stuck their tongues out at each other simultaneously. “Anyway, so now that we’ve gotten that bit over with…”

“Fuck you, Rivaini,” Varric called back with a grin.

“You wish,” she retorted, prompting further enthusiastic response from the crowd.

_“If you like to gamble, I tell you I’m your man…”_

“Everything okay, love?” Anders asked softly once the song began.

“Yes, I think it is,” she whispered in reply. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” he said before leaning in for another kiss.

“Gross,” Carver interjected with a laugh.

“You get used to it,” Fenris added with his typical smirk. “At least you’d better if you’re sticking around, because you’re fucking surrounded by it.”

“Love you, too, Fenris,” Aveline deadpanned.

“I know,” he answered with a sarcastic nod.

“Speaking of which,” Donnic cut in, “Aveline, you know I love you, but the next time you decide to harass tourists, please try typing your letters.”

“Oh shit,” she exclaimed, even though she couldn’t help her laughter all the same. “Who—”

“I handled it, don’t worry,” he told her with a slight laugh of his own. “Next time, though, you might not be so lucky.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said sincerely. “I do hope there isn’t a next time, however.”

“You’re telling me,” Fenris replied, and he seemed to shudder at the thought despite his casual demeanor.

_“Playing with the high one, dancing with the devil, going with the flow; it’s all a game to me…”_

Norah returned to the table with a round of drinks, presumably ordered while the Hawke siblings were outside, and she was surprised to see a pint set down in front of her.

“Cider,” Aveline noted. She still wasn’t making eye contact but her guard appeared to have lowered, so Hawke simply tried to keep Donnic’s earlier words in mind. “As your rightful guardians, Varric and I decided you can have a little so long as you keep away from liquor.”

“Thanks, Mother,” Hawke said with a wink before taking a sip. “I’ll be sure to thank the other one when he’s done, too.”

“They just worry about you, Hawke,” Merrill added. “We all do, you know that.”

“I know,” she admitted gratefully, hoping she was able to convey how much their efforts really did mean to her, even when they drove her up a wall.

_“You know I’m born to lose and gambling’s for fools, but that’s the way I like it, baby. I don’t wanna live forever, and don’t forget the joker…”_

“Are you participating tonight?” Hawke asked Carver when she noticed him grab a slip from the centre of the table, which reminded her she still needed to do the same.

“I figure why not,” he shrugged. “Live a little, try to have some fun, right?”

“Tell that to them,” she joked as she pointed at Aveline and then Fenris.

“Or don’t,” they responded at nearly the same time.

“Oh, whatever would I do without you losers?” Hawke teased.

“Let’s not think about that one,” Isabela replied as she appeared out of nowhere.

“Andraste’s knickers,” Anders nearly shouted. “How the fuck do you always manage to sneak up on us like that?”

“Very carefully,” she laughed, and then turned to Carver. “Well, hello again, baby brother.”

“Please don’t,” he scowled, and Isabela playfully crossed her arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright, fine,” she drew out with a grin. “On a more professional note, I can take that if you’re done with it.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod when he handed her the paper he’d set down just a moment before.

_“The only thing you see, you know it’s gonna be the ace of spades…”_

“Oh, well, I’ll check back on you kids later!” Isabela exclaimed before running back to the booth.

“Does she pull that shit when it’s just the two of you?” Fenris asked Merrill as Anders was called up next.

“No,” she answered quickly. “She reserves that just for all of you. It’s how her friends know she likes them. She has other ways of showing me.”

“Charming,” Fenris joked back.

“Please tell me about these ‘other ways,’ Daisy,” Varric added as he sat back down.

“Not everything always has to be dirty, Varric,” Merrill retorted. “Sometimes it is, though. You’ll just have to use your imagination.”

“See what I was saying?” Fenris asked Carver directly.

“Maker’s balls, yes,” he chuckled. “By the way, Trista, it looks like things are still going well for you on that front, then?”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “They are.”

“How, umm, did he take it?” Carver asked somewhat uncomfortably, and he seemed unsure of whether or not he should have brought it up again as soon as he did.

“I suppose about as well as you’d expect,” she answered honestly. “I’ve been staying with him ever since, for obvious reason, but it’s been nice despite the circumstance.”

“That’s good,” he replied. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she added and then returned to her drink.

_“‘Are you okay? You’ve been shot in the head and I’m holding your brains,’ the old woman said. So I drink in the shadows of an evening sky, and see nothing at all…”_

“I think Father would’ve approved,” Carver noted as he lit another cigarette, which prompted Hawke and Varric both to follow suit.

“You have no idea,” she said back with a short nasal laugh. “I’m not so sure Mother would, but hey. You can’t win ‘em all, right?”

“Isn’t that the fucking truth,” Carver teased flatly and raised his own glass at the sentiment.

“In all seriousness, though, it honestly is a real shame they never could have met,” she added sadly. “I truly do believe they’d have gotten on magnificently.”

“That actually should be enough to earn Mother’s blessing, then, you know,” he answered gently. “I know she’s a pain in the ass but we both know how much they loved and respected each other. So if you think Father would’ve liked him that much, Mother might not be as unreasonable about it as you think.”

“Eh,” Hawke answered dismissively. “I mean, I guess we’ll see. After all, I’m sure they’ll meet…eventually…”

_“The stars look so special and the snow looks so old. The frail form is drifting beyond the orc’s zone. Time to question the mountain, why pigs can fly. It’s nothing at all…”_

“So, what’s everyone planning for Satinalia?” Carver asked, evidently reduced to small talk to try to cover over the lingering discomfort of the exchange his question followed.

_“I praise to you. Nothing ever goes away. I praise to you. Nothing ever goes…”_

“Probably nothing,” Merrill said. “I’m Dalish, and Isabela just doesn’t really care.”

“Most likely drinking for me,” Varric laughed.

“Same,” Fenris added.

“We’ll be having dinner with his family,” Aveline said with a nod towards Donnic.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Hawke noted. “Lirene told me earlier today that Anders has probably never had one, so I’d like to do something nice for him but I’m really not sure yet.”

_“I praise to you. Nothing ever goes away…”_

“You saw Lirene?” Aveline inquired. “How was that?”

“Not nearly as weird as I thought it would be,” she replied with a small chuckle. “She said to come back whenever I’m ready, so I’m thinking I’ll probably start again on Monday. I’m sure she’ll have ideas of her own, so, you know…”

_“I praise to you. Nothing ever goes, nothing ever goes…”_

“I’m sure whatever you do, it’ll be lovely,” Merrill assured cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Hawke replied. “I hope you’re right.”

Anders returned to the table as a short blonde woman in a long red shirt over yellow plaid leggings none of them knew was called up.

_“Well, we don’t need no one to tell us what to do; oh yes, we’re on our own and there’s nothing you can do, so we don’t need no one like you to tell us what to do…”_

“I didn’t know other people were allowed participate in karaoke here,” Fenris laughed. “Varric, how’d you let this one slip through?”

“Hey, Broody, I’m a business man now,” Varric teased. “And Daisy says I’m not allowed to charge you fuckers for drinks anymore, so I’ve gotta get by somehow.”

“Damn right,” Isabela said when she popped back at the table, and she immediately made her way to Merrill for a kiss. “That’s my girl.”

“In that case I should have ordered a bottle,” Fenris replied, looking down at his wine glass.

“There _are_ limits to my generosity, you know,” Varric quickly responded. “And just for the record, this place actually does have other customers. We’re just the loudest and most lovable, so no one else ever notices.”

_“We don’t refer to the past when showing what we’ve done, our generation gap means the war is never won; the past is in your head, the future’s in our hands…”_

“That’s why we’re the favourites,” Isabela added.

“Always,” Varric grinned.

“I’ll be right back,” Aveline said as she stood up. “I’ve got to break the seal.”

“Satinalia, then?” Hawke asked Donnic as soon as Aveline was out of earshot.

“Wha—oh,” he flustered a little. “I thought about that, but isn’t it a bit, I don’t know, cliché?”

“Maker, you two are meant for each other,” Isabela teased.

“You still don’t get to talk,” Varric snapped back. “Every last one of you happy assholes have placed yourselves _far_ out of judgment range.”

Hawke, Anders, Isabela, Merrill, and Donnic all exchanged quick, affirming nods.

“Fine, guilty as charged,” Isabela followed. “But come on…”

“Santinalia sounds like a nice plan, Donnic,” Varric replied seriously. “I think Red’ll love it.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t long before Aveline returned and it was only a moment after that Isabela went back to her booth and called Carver.

“Here goes nothing,” he laughed nervously before walking over.

“I’m almost afraid,” Varric noted, and Hawke and Aveline both nodded in agreement.

_“Tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us, all our friends are glorious, tonight we are victorious…”_

“Well,” Aveline laughed. “That’s not at all what I would’ve expected.”

“Nope,” Varric added.

“Yeah, same,” Hawke shook her head. “This has been a strange few months and I guess they’re only getting stranger…”

“I’m glad you two are getting along,” Aveline said suddenly. “I know things really _are_ strange right now, but at least there’s some good in it?”

It was the first time since before the clinic that Aveline really, properly looked at Hawke, and the wave of relief she felt was almost overwhelming.

“Are you alright, love?” Anders asked, and she had no idea what kind of face she must have been making.

“Right now, actually…yes,” Hawke replied contentedly. “It’s nice to almost feel like a normal person.”

“Indeed,” Anders noted softly.

_“My touch is black and poisonous and nothing like my punch-drunk love, I know you need it, do you feel it? Drink the water, drink the wine…”_

“Maker, I really should be recording this,” Hawke added with a wide smile. “He is never going to live this down.”

“Maybe you should play nice with your brother,” Anders laughed. “After all, you are only just starting to have him around.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiine,” Hawke playfully acquiesced. “One of these days, though, Aveline and I are going to have to sit you down and recount some stories of our youth and what a fucking dick Carver was back then.”

“I was always sort of under the impression that that’s just how families and siblings and all that mess operated?” Anders did a good enough job hiding the tinge of melancholy behind his words, and Hawke thought she might actually have been the only to detect it.

“No, _this,”_ she replied, gesturing around the table, “this merry band of misfits we’ve got here… _this_ is family, this is what family _should_ be like.”

“Fair enough,” Anders replied with a smile, and Hawke took a drink from the cider she was still nursing and then leaned herself against him.

“I’ll drink to that,” Varric added and downed the rest of his beer, and everyone else at the table did the same with what they were having.

“This is nice,” Hawke noted again.

“Yeah,” Anders agreed as he stretched his arm around her. “This is nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Keerstan](http://kayth1.tumblr.com), a.k.a. the Varric to my Hawke, requested Motorhead for _this_ Varric ages ago, so there you have it.
> 
> And the Sera nod is for the lovely [Michelle](http://pretty--sunset.tumblr.com).
> 
> Of course, as always, I am on Tumblr as [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) if you ever want to talk (and if you do you read this, you should _absolutely_ tell me because my BPD ass requires constant validation!).


	39. Neverending New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dysfunctional family/emotionally abusive mother, referenced eating disorder, references to Kinloch, referenced death of a family member
> 
> ["Psycho Killer" by Talking Heads](https://youtu.be/O52jAYa4Pm8)

_Maker’s balls, you were right. I regret this. I regret everything._

Hawke laughed out loud at her brother’s text message, the first thing she saw when she pulled out her phone in Lirene’s break room.

_Mother, I presume?_

She hit send and then grabbed her purse to head to the small smoking area behind the shop. It was Monday and she had managed to follow through on her plan of returning to work at the beginning of the week. Lirene accepted her with open arms, quite literally, when she’d walked in that morning and asked if she could start again. Anders had come in with her and the three of them had a pleasant exchange before the day properly commenced. He told her then that he’d be picking her up, as well, and that this would be the routine for at least a little while. She still couldn’t help her guilt over how people continued to go out of their way, but she was past the point of trying to argue or complain. She recognised the fortune she’d found in the friends—the new family—she’d acquired, and she knew it wasn’t actually as big a deal for them as it was for her. So she did not contest the help she was given but tried to allow herself to appreciate it for what it was.

_Who else? I really should’ve known better. She’s fucking livid. You haven’t unblocked her number, have you? I hope not, for your sake._

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could let Carver shoulder the burden of their mother, though. She had, of course, asked him not to tell her about what had happened, but she still had to pity him for what they both knew she was going to put him through over it.

_I haven’t, don’t worry. Have fun with that. ;)_

She pulled out her cigarettes and lit one, carefully watching her phone for further response. She was halfway through when the next came, but that time it was in the form of a phone call.

“Oh no,” was the first thing she said when she answered. “We don’t use phones for talking, so what’s wrong?”

“Skipping right past the formalities, then,” Carver laughed in reply before clearing his throat and shifting to a more serious tone. “I just remembered and I didn’t know if you’d thought of this one yet so I figured…well, have you considered what you’re going to do when Mother inevitably bumps into you while she’s Satinalia shopping?”

“Fuck,” she said a little louder than she intended. “I am _now._ Do you happen to know when she’s planning on going out for it?”

“I don’t,” he told her, just as she expected. “Like I said, I just figured that with everything that’s happened, well…I guess it’s something to try to prepare for.”

“That it is,” she sighed. “Thanks, Carver. Just out of morbid curiosity, though, how did she—”

“Every bit as poorly as you most likely feared,” he interrupted. “You should probably check on Aveline, too, since I know she’s been trying to get in touch with her about it.”

“Of course she is,” Hawke almost laughed herself. “I know I’ll see Aveline tomorrow if nothing else, so I suppose I’ll have to make sure she’s handling things as well as you.”

“Hopefully better than that,” Carver noted in a similar tone. “I’ll let you go, but…you know.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a nod even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I know. I appreciate it.”

“Talk to you later, Trista.”

“Later.”

She ended the call and put her phone down with a slight huff, but she quickly picked it up again to text Anders.

_Let’s run away to Antiva._

She finished her cigarette and placed it into the designated receptacle, and saw she had a reply when she lit another.

_You know we can’t do that, love._

She shook her head with a small laugh before she began to type again.

_Nevarra, then? I’m not picky. I’d prefer not to go to Orlais, but I could be persuaded._

She genuinely laughed out loud again at his response to that one, especially at the fact that it didn’t even take a minute.

_Too Fereldan for your own good there?_

It was a common joke which often turned a little too hostile that there was a strong rivalry between Ferelden and Orlais dating back to some sort of ancient political disagreement or another. Or maybe it was about sports teams. She figured it had most likely started as the former and eventually devolved into the latter, but she couldn’t say for sure. After all, she’d always had bigger things to worry about.

_So we’re going with Orlais, then? Fine, I accept. Do you know when the next flight to Val Royeaux is? Shall we leave tonight?_

Yet again her phone alerted her to an incoming call, which she picked up with an exaggerated sigh.

“You know we’re not really moving to Orlais, right?” Anders asked as soon as she finished.

“I’m still good with Antiva or Nevarra. I hear Seheron’s nice this time of year, too. And there’s always Rivain. Tevinter and the Anderfels both sound like total shitholes but I’m certainly open to suggestions…”

She was only kind of joking, but she was grateful for the amusement she could hear from Anders nonetheless.

“Neither of us can afford to pack up and leave like that and you know it,” he replied with a small chuckle. “Besides, I can’t just leave the clinic behind and you’d miss the rest of the Crew as much as I would. You’re right, though, the Anderfels is basically a fucking wasteland, so that one is _definitely_ out of the question.”

“Fair enough,” she said with another sigh. “I just…I don’t know…”

“What’s the matter, love?” Anders’s voice held that kind of sincerity that always hit her right in the chest, and she took a second before answering.

“Oh you know, just the usual,” she stated between puffs. “You know that one meme with the dog sitting in a burning room that says ‘this is fine’? Something like that.”

“Are you on break? It’s been pretty slow today, I can talk if you need me.”

She put out her second cigarette and automatically lit a third, quietly laughing at herself before responding, “It’s really not that big of a deal. I’ll see you in a few hours, love, and I promise I’ll talk to you then.”

“What are you thinking for dinner?” Anders had figured out a long time ago that suggesting food was always a good way to make her feel better. He hadn’t had any more relapses since she’d gotten him to talk about it, but she could see that it remained a constant struggle for him, as they both knew it always would. She understood that much of it, could relate to that much of it, and she was always grateful that he put as much effort into it as he did.

“Want to grab sushi?” It was the first thing that occurred to her, and she immediately continued when she thought she heard Anders getting ready to protest. “Some extra money magically appeared at the top of my purse not long after you left this morning, so I can get it.”

“Of course it did,” he said with what she could swear was an audible smile. “That sounds like a plan, then. I’d tell you to thank Lirene for me, but knowing her she’ll probably just act like she has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s kind of what I’d assumed, yeah,” she told him as she put out her cigarette. “On that note, though, I should probably head back in.”

“Alright, love,” he said softly. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I love you, Anders.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

At that she stood up and made her way back into the shop, where it was especially hectic. Satinalia was another month away, but that made them already a couple months into the standard shopping season, so more and more people were coming in under the impression that they were starting at the last minute.

Hawke had the same concern herself, in reality, given that she’d never had so many people she wanted to shop for and had already begun to worry she wouldn’t have enough time to get everyone covered. She also kept forgetting to ask Merrill about Dalish holidays and how they worked, if there were any that involved gift-giving that she could take advantage of even if it was at another time. Of course she wanted to include her, but she did not wish to presume it would be automatically considerate of her not to leave her out of her Satinalia gifting on principle, even though she knew it wasn’t part of Merrill’s culture, that it wasn’t something she celebrated.

“Andraste’s tits,” she breathed out harshly when she signed back in on the register and four people with baskets full to bursting immediately queued up in front of her.

“You think this is bad, dear,” Lirene laughed, “just you wait for the next few weeks.”

“I’m slightly afraid. Should I be afraid?” Hawke asked over her shoulder when Lirene moved behind her to grab a more expensive item from the back shelf while her first post-break customer started unloading items onto the counter at a frustratingly slow pace.

“Probably,” Lirene answered sympathetically. “It’s usually week of that we see the most traffic. Queues practically out the door.”

“Yay,” Hawke deadpanned as she finally started ringing out the patron who was still taking items from their basket.

“You’ll be fine,” Lirene assured with a grin, and Hawke nodded in an attempt to believe her.

“Oh,” she added just as Lirene was about to head into the back room. “I wanted to ask you…Anders, Satinalia, help?”

“You could always get him another cat,” she teased.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Pounce, and I love how much Anders loves him but, well…”

She finished the first of what would be many transactions since clocking back in, and took advantage of the next one in line taking a second to gather up their things.

“But,” she continued, “I feel like that might be setting him down a dangerous path, don’t you agree?”

“Hmm, you’re certainly not wrong about that,” Lirene called back from the doorway of the small stockroom behind them. “It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. Just get a tree, make sure you get some food into him by whatever means necessary, even a gift or two…Hawke, dear, whatever you do, he’s going to love it, I can promise you that. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“You do realise who you’re talking to, yes?” Hawke shouted as Lirene properly crossed the threshold.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t _try_ to reason with you,” Lirene yelled back with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that!” Hawke added with a smile and began ringing up the customer in front of her then, an elderly woman who looked entirely too amused by the conversation.

Fortunately, she didn’t have as much as it had appeared, just a handful of larger items, and it didn’t take long to get her going and move onto the next.

The day continued like that, bringing in a rather steady stream of shoppers even at its slower points, until finally the last of them filed out and Lirene turned off the large LED “open” sign in the front window, only unlocking the door again to let Anders in a couple minutes later.

He greeted Hawke with a quick kiss, and from the corner of her eye she could see how positively ecstatic Lirene appeared in response to even just that brief display.

“How was your day?” Anders asked, glancing between both of them.

“Busy,” Hawke answered first with a soft smile. She still wasn’t sure if she could ever stop feeling so bad over how everyone seemed in such a rush to watch over her, take care of her as they were, but there was something about the exchange before her just then that made her feel so normal. Like everything would be okay, despite the knowledge that it could never be entirely true, and she decided she wanted to savour it whenever it was available for her to do so.

“It was wonderful to have her back,” Lirene followed happily. “You found a good one, Anders.”

Hawke didn’t quite know what to do with that comment, and her eyes immediately shot to the floor.

“How about you, dear?” Lirene continued directly to Anders.

“Fine,” he replied. “A bit boring, but of course you can never really _complain_ about a lack of sick and injured.”

“Doing anything to get ready for the holiday?” Lirene was apparently not going to be subtle about aiding Hawke in planning, and she was grateful Anders wouldn’t be able to see whatever sort of face she was making from where they were standing.

“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought?” Anders answered with the distinct inflection of questioning, himself. “Can I assume at this point that you won’t be spending it with your family?”

“Oh,” Hawke spoke up after a momentary pause, taking a second to realise the query was meant for her. “No, that definitely won’t be a thing _at least_ this year, for sure.”

“It’ll just be us, then?” Anders’s eyes were wide when Hawke finally looked back up towards him, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his expression. She didn’t think he would if he could see it, either. He appeared almost bewildered by the concept, and definitely uncertain about what he should say next.

Hawke nodded with her best attempt at a comforting smile and took his hand. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

Subtlety had, after all, apparently been tossed out the window already, so she figured it couldn’t hurt to try to be direct.

“I don’t know, I’ve honestly never really done anything before,” he said softly, confirming Lirene’s suspicions. “The closest I ever got was back in Kinloch when they’d let you have an extra phone call for the day, but I never had anyone to call anyway…”

“Love,” Hawke replied gently, even though she wasn’t actually sure what to say, herself. “You know that whatever it is that ends up happening, I am going to make damn sure you have the best Satinalia I can give you.”

She thought she’d even achieved the level of confident sincerity she was reaching for, and when she looked back at Anders, the way his face lit up indicated that she was right.

“Thanks,” he said almost sheepishly, and Lirene looked on with warmth in her eyes.

“Alright, enough standing around,” she said after a few seconds. “You two should get out of here already. Go home, have a nice evening, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, Mother,” Anders laughed in a familiar manner, the same way Hawke often used that exact phrase when addressing Aveline and Varric.

“You know I love you,” Lirene replied and opened up her arms once again, taking Anders into a long embrace and then immediately following with Hawke. “Take care now.”

“See you tomorrow,” Hawke said as they made for the door, which Anders quickly echoed.

They walked hand in hand as they left the shop and headed for Anders’s car, which was parked about a block down the street. They were quiet on the way there, and the only sound made even after they got in was simply the noise of the ignition and the music that started automatically.

“So what’s up, love?” Anders finally asked once he turned off of the main road.

_“I can’t seem to face up to the facts, I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax. I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire; don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire. Psycho killer, qu’est-ce que c’est…”_

“Carver called earlier,” she answered with greater ease than she’d anticipated. “Mother’s every bit as furious as I thought she’d be, which is just…whatever, I guess. Not like we didn’t see that coming and it sounds like he’s doing a good enough job taking it. He did remind me, though, that I’m probably going to see her during holiday shopping and I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do…I mean, what do I even tell Lirene? I imagine I need to tell her something since she’ll have to deal with me, but…”

_“Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away…”_

“Just tell her,” Anders suggested. “You’re right, it probably is better she’s forewarned. Do you think your mother would make a scene?”

“No,” Hawke shrugged. “I mean, I don’t _think_ she will. Ever since she moved back to her precious Hightown estate, at least, she has this idea of herself being all proper or whatever the fuck. I guess the Amells were once of some importance in the Free Marches? I don’t know the whole story but that house has _some_ sort of historical significance and I think there’s even some shit named after her family in the university or something like that, so she’ll probably think she’s better than that. It’ll be tense, though, no matter what, I can guarantee that much. I don’t know, I guess it’s just…I don’t want things to be this way with her but she’s just such a fucking pain and…I don’t, I don’t know…”

_“You start a conversation you can’t even finish, you’re talking a lot but you’re not saying anything…”_

“It’s alright, love,” Anders assured. “I know she’s never made things particularly easy on you. Talk to Lirene. You already know she’ll be supportive and you two can work out whatever you need to work out for whenever she does show. Are you certain she will?”

“Fairly certain, yeah,” Hawke sighed. “I should be so lucky, right?”

“Of course,” Anders answered with a near-smile, and he reached to squeeze her hand. “You can always call me if you need me, too, you know. I obviously can’t promise I’ll be able to talk too long right then and there, but I’ll do what I can and no matter what, I’ll be there for you after.”

“I know, love, thank you,” Hawke said with a small hint of relief in her voice. She felt a sudden pang of guilt over the subject, however, and briefly held a silent deliberation with herself before she decided to just ask the question on her mind. “Have you ever, umm…have you ever considered trying to find your mother? You did get along with her, didn’t you?”

It only occurred to her after she asked what an incredibly stupid question it was, even how terribly inconsiderate it must have sounded given her knowledge of how little Anders knew of his own background, how impossible it would make such a search to even start, which made his answer all that much more surprising.

“I did, yes,” he replied, and whatever he was feeling in that moment was clearly held back. “I remember her as a very kind person, very loving. Granted, I know I can never _really_ be sure how well those memories hold up to reality, but I know I loved her very much. I still have an old pillow she made for me. It was the only thing I had on me when the Circle came for me, and…well…anyway, I tried to find her not too long after I moved here. I’d regretted not doing it from Amaranthine, but it turns out it didn’t matter either way. She died about ten years ago. I don’t know how, but she’s buried somewhere around Kassel. I wonder how long it even took them to venture back across the world once they were rid of me.”

_“Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better…”_

“Anders…”

“I’m sure it wasn’t her decision. Or I think I’m sure. Fuck, sorry, this was supposed to be…shit, I missed the turn.” Anders let go of Hawke’s hand so he could have both on the wheel, and he muttered incoherently to himself as he approached an alley he could turn around in. They weren’t too far from home, as it wasn’t a far drive to begin with, and she took that as a positive despite how terrible she felt bringing up something that was clearly still so raw.

It was also just then that she realised quite how thoroughly she truly did think of Anders’s place as home.

_“Ce que j'ai fait, ce soir la, ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir la. Realisant mon espoir, je me lance, vers la gloire, okay…”_

“I’m so sorry,” she spoke up again once they were back in the right direction.

“You didn’t know,” he replied quietly, and she could still hear the conscious effort he was making to keep his tone flat.

“Hey,” she said, so softly her speech was practically just a breath. “You can talk to me, too, you know.”

“I know, Trista, I…”

“I know it’s hard,” she added, her voice unchanging. “Believe me, I understand that much…”

“I know you do.” Anders tried to smile, or so it seemed, but the effort fell short. “I’m sorry, love.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” she offered, her tone still airy but with a firm touch to it, an attempt at emphasis. She reached for his shoulder and gently ran her fingers over it and just slightly down his arm, back and forth to keep him close, to keep him there.

_“Qu’est que ce, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better…”_

She thought to ask him about their earlier conversation then, too, to ask if he genuinely did have his own memories of the Anderfels, and in that case how strange it seemed that he might have retained that while he claimed not to recall his own name, or at least what had been, the one he’d used the first 12 years of his life, especially after learning he must have still known his mother’s. She instantly decided against it, though, figuring she’d already pushed him enough for the time being, even if she hadn’t meant to.

There was a spot open almost right in front of his building, a rare occasion, and she didn’t even wait until they were upstairs to make the call to order dinner.

As usual, Pounce ran to greet them at the door once they’d reached the apartment, and Hawke couldn’t help but smile at how routine, how normal and how welcome, this had already become.

Anders hastily kicked off his boots and hit the couch, followed swiftly by Hawke.

Instead of sitting down beside him as she typically would, she laid down and rested her head in his lap, which got a laugh out of him, just as she had hoped for.

“You do realise that one of us is going to have to get up and go back downstairs when food gets here, right?” Even as he made his commentary, he still began to run his fingers through her hair, and the tension easily dissolved, even if that did not come with any kind of resolution.

“No,” she retorted with playful faux-petulance. “Fuck your logic, I’m comfortable now.”

“I’ll grab it, don’t worry,” he answered, perfectly matching her newly casual demeanor, but she could no longer tell whether or not it was only because he was still actively trying to do so. “I can do that much, but that still means you’re going to have to move, love.”

“Fine,” she teased and sat herself up, simply replacing his lap with his shoulder when she leaned into him.

Pounce hopped up into her lap and she could feel Anders’s expression change, as such an event almost never failed to make him smile no matter how many times it happened.

“Anders,” she said delicately after a moment, almost inflecting a question but not quite, “things are going to be okay, right?”

“As much as they can be, I think.” Despite his phrasing, he sounded hopeful. She knew his intention, that it wasn’t so much negativity as honesty, and she appreciated it. He never really sugar-coated the reality of their situation, and neither did she. It was what it was and it seemed they both knew that they just had to work around it to the best of their abilities, and it felt more and more each day that the best way they could do that was together.

So much less time than it ever seemed had yet passed between them and she knew that, and she tried to her best to keep an even head about it, but in those little moments where they both needed someone to be there, someone to understand…in those little moments everything else fell away entirely, and it was just the two of them against the world.

And every time those moments struck, every time that feeling overtook her, she never ceased to be amazed at how it scared her less and less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me where sushi comes from in Thedas. I just really wanted sushi when I wrote that bit. :)
> 
> Also, it's now a little scary how well [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) is accidentally predicting details of this fic, haha. Just sayin'.
> 
> It also finally hit me, as I've noted on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), that I think the reason I made Satinalia a prominent thing that's happening right now is because that is just _how fucking badly_ I don't want it to be summer in real life right now. Oops.


	40. In the Silence Where the Secrets Keep, Where the Bomb Falls and Keeps Us from Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: heavily referenced sexual and physical abuse/assault, referenced substance abuse, implied self-blame, implied memory repression, general PTSD, referenced self-destructive episodes, passive suicidal ideation, mention of Bethany
> 
> Or, for this edition of "guess what Julianna's been dealing with lately," plus a couple of "see what I did there" lines just because.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke woke up gasping for breath, shaken by whatever exact moment in her mind it was that had startled her so, with a pillow mysteriously tight in her grasp instead of under her head where it had been originally.

She’d already been having a restless night, her dreams disturbed by events she was not quite willing to admit she still dreamt of, and when she rolled over to check the time from her phone, she saw that it was already after 7:30am. Which meant she didn’t actually have to get up for roughly another two hours, but when she considered how successful staying in bed had been for her to that point, she decided there was no good reason for continuing to do so. She only hoped she could get up without waking Anders.

That’s when she noticed the empty space beside her.

She crawled out of bed feeling only slightly more panicked than she did before, but it was an easy assumption that Anders was likely up for the same reason she was. Which she supposed shouldn’t actually have made her feel better, but at least she was fairly certain she knew where to find him and that he was probably, by standards they were both all too familiar with, safe.

She caught a ruffled blond tuft of hair sticking out from the back of the large couch as she entered the main room, which served as alleviating confirmation, and she tried to figure out how best to approach him, hoping to get his attention in the most gentle manner possible to try to minimise any startle response from his end.

“Love?” She was quiet, as quiet as she could manage while he might still be able to hear her, and he slowly leaned over the side to look back at her. He looked tired and terribly pained, but it seemed her plan had worked, at the very least. “You, too, huh?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Anders shifted back into his seat as she took hers beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her to guide her against his shoulder, which she followed willingly.

“No, that was all me,” she tried to laugh. “How long have you been up?”

“Not even a half hour, I don’t think,” he said wearily, the exhaustion in his voice prominent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were having a rough night or I would’ve stuck around.”

“You should have anyway, you know,” she sighed against his neck. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can wake me if you need me?”

“Love, I…” Anders’s inflection was laced with an odd shame, and Hawke only buried her face deeper into where his shoulder met.

“I know,” she answered and bit back a yawn. “I don’t want you to feel guilty, Anders, I just need you to know that this works both ways.”

“Well, this is just like fucking dèjá vu, isn’t it?” Anders noted casually, and she’d already had the same thought.

“I don’t suspect that will ever really go away,” she responded as she broke away and moved herself upright, and she immediately felt hollow at the loss of contact. “I need coffee.”

“You know where it is,” he said with a small smile, and it seemed genuine. She wondered if there was some comfort in the familiarity of it all, of even just not having to do this alone. She definitely felt it, if nothing else.

“I _do_ basically live here now, don’t I?” She returned his expression, and she surprised herself at how easily it came that time, the thought she’d just vocalised analeptic.

“Basically,” he answered quickly, that same smile growing a little more, solidifying her suspicion of such strange solace between them, able to cascade over even their more difficult times.

She made for the kitchen and swiftly procured a bag of coffee and a mug before acquiring water and starting a pot, barely aware of her actions as she moved through each step with an almost ritualistic fluidity.

She set her cup down on the counter while the coffeemaker began its work, just in time for Anders to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, to nuzzle his nose against her neck.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” he whispered. “I hope you know that. I’m still not used to…to _this,_ is all. I’m still learning and I’m sorry it’s taking so fucking long.”

“I know, love.” She perfectly matched his volume, her voice rough from exhaustion and the anxiety that had led her there to begin with, cracked beneath the weight of the stress of the trauma that she hated how much she still thought about. “I know. Can you talk to me now?”

“Dreams of Kinloch,” he confessed, and her jaw brushed his forehead at her nod. “That happens a lot.”

“I know, love,” she repeated, forcing herself to sound lighter, even to alter her pitch, aiming for just the right inflection of dedicated assurance. She placed her hands over his and their fingers intertwined instantly, an automatic response it felt impossible to avoid, not like either of them would want to. “I’m listening.”

“It gets fuzzy sometimes,” he told her while he pulled away to allow her room to attend to the coffee that had just finished brewing. “I’m not always sure how much is real, and there’s so much that’s just…gone. So much time missing, and it terrifies me to wonder what that could mean. I do have many _very_ vivid memories—more than I want, honestly—but I’m sure that how little I do actually remember all in all from almost 20 fucking years can’t imply anything good.”

“What woke you up?” She poured her coffee and turned towards him, keeping both hands on her mug, taking in its welcome warmth, but keeping her eyes where they needed to be. He moved to a cupboard and then back towards the counter to pour himself a cup, but then he surprised her when he reciprocated the contact.

“Sometimes I can still feel them,” he admitted after taking a moment to breathe in the scent of the hot coffee. “Even in my sleep, sometimes it’s like they’re still right there with me, like it’s happening all over again right here and now.”

“Yeah,” she said instantly, almost robotic in the way she responded, not even realising she was answering until she already had.

“The technical term is, of all fucking things, ‘body memories,’” he noted between sips from his coffee. “No points for creativity there, I guess, but…well…you get them, too?”

“That’s actually what got me out of bed this time, too,” she confessed before taking a long drink herself. “But yeah, I still feel them. I can still feel all of them.”

How often, it seemed, that words came out she never meant to say anymore. She sounded so empty when she spoke those last points, but she couldn’t be sure if she actually regretted it or not. She wanted him to keep opening up, after all, she knew how badly he needed it. In a rare moment, then, she did not desire to undo it, to look for a way to backpedal or run from what she’d said, but instead decided to be okay with putting herself out in the hope that he would follow her example.

“Maker, Trista…” His eyes had widened as hers narrowed, and she could see how ready he was to shift the conversation to her, to what she was dealing with in that same moment, and she was every ounce as unwilling to let him do so just yet. She would talk when he was done, that much she’d already made clear to herself, but she couldn’t let him move on so soon.

“Keep talking, love,” she said softly even as her gaze drifted towards her hands. She caught it, however, and looked back up at him as soon as she did before adding, “You’ve been through so much I can’t ever begin to imagine, and you don’t have to keep all it in anymore.”

“Trista—”

_“Please.”_

“I suppose we do have some time to kill, don’t we?” He offered a slight smirk which almost distracted from the way his fingers around his mug alternated between hands in restlessly tapping against it. “Let’s…sit back down?”

“Yes,” she replied as emphatically as she was able given the context, the hour, and how groggy they both remained.

They each topped off their coffees and collected themselves to return to the main room, passing Pounce on his way to his bowls.

“How much did your father ever tell you about the Circle?” Anders asked once they reclaimed their seats. “Do you know much about what his experiences were like?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not too, too much, at least. I honestly don’t think he went through quite the same things you did but…I guess I’ll never really know for sure. I was 21 when he passed but he still saw me as his little girl until the end. He wanted to protect me from everything—he _would_ have protected me from _anything_ —so I suppose I can’t be certain about that one. I know he saw some things no one should ever have to see. He occasionally mentioned beatings, threats. Threats of abuse he never elaborated on, threats of isolation, even starvation, and I’m sure they made good on them more than he ever explicitly stated. He told us plainly they were obscenely strict, that they were cruel, that he was cut off from the outside world completely. Apparently Mother had to teach him a lot of really basic things about how to get by because he’d truly never known. I know it makes sense, there’d have been no reason for him to learn if he was intended to stay locked away his whole life. He often had trouble holding down a job, and he’d joke about how long it took him to figure out stuff like just having a bank account or keeping track of utility bills or even how to write cheques. He’d always tell us what a fucking saint Mother was, how patient she was with all those things. Nice to know she _does_ have it in her. But that…is not what we were talking about, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, love,” he said into his cup. “I was just curious. The Gallows has a much harsher reputation than Kinloch Hold, or really any other Circle as far as I know, but I’ve always wondered about that. Karl didn’t say a lot either, but I think he was afraid they’d read his letters, outgoing or incoming. All I know is I fear for anyone who ends up there if the rumours really are true.”

“Do you ever worry about it?” Her eyes drifted uncertainly downwards, as well. “I mean, living in Kirkwall and all. Do you think taking the Cousland name would carry here, too?”

“I don’t know, and I’m in no rush to find out.” He took a drink, and Hawke looked back over towards him, caught how pensive he appeared. “I do, though, yeah. Not as often as I used to, I guess, but I know I’ve put a target on my head that the people in charge have apparently just been too daft to notice so far. Having the friends I do helps, of course. I know there are people who’d cover for me, who’d do everything they possibly could to keep authorities away from my door. No one’s ever said anything on the subject, but I’ve no doubt that’s already happened. But I also know I actively risk them showing up there every day in any case. Honestly, I’d burn their whole fucking Chantry to the ground if I could. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the only way…the only _justice_ for people like us.”

“Maker, I wish you could, too,” she sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being in awe of the difference that you make, though. If there’s one thing I’ve learned working for Lirene, it’s how fucking important you are to so many people. I know I’ve said that before but…fuck, Anders, the way you put yourself on the line to help those who need it, I mean…if that isn’t contributing to changing the world, even in a small way, then…”

She took another sip of coffee, already lukewarm, and debated whether or not she wanted to request to take the conversation outside. She looked back up at him, trying to get a read, but he appeared stoic, lost in the whirlwind behind his eyes.

“Thank you, love,” he said quietly when she didn’t continue. “I like to think so but it’s hard sometimes, when you look at the big picture.”

“I can’t even imagine how frustrating that must be for you, but please don’t think for a minute that it takes away from the good you do.” She chugged the remainder of her coffee and set down her mug before adding, “Keep talking?”

“I don’t really know what else there is to say about it, Trista.” His eyes moved as though they couldn’t quite focus and his affect flattened as he exhaled heavily through the burden they both felt of their own minds. “I got hurt. A lot. And I doubt it will ever go away. But even after all that, it’s not just about being beaten or raped by the Circle guard, it’s…it’s also knowing how many other people that’s happened to, how many it’s still happening to.”

He set down his own cup, only half emptied, and she could see then how his hands were shaking. She reached to take one but he quickly pulled back, and his mouth fell open instantly with apologies already on his lips.

“Fuck, Tris…”

“No, Anders, it’s alright. I promise, love, it’s alright.” She held on as hard as she could when he moved his trembling hands back towards her, taking both into her own and closing her eyes, wary of moving any closer but desperate to offer some form of comfort. She breathed deep, taking him in from the negligible distance between them that felt like a chasm she could scream into and receive nothing but the echo of her own voice from in return.

Her eyes opened again to the sight of his stilling before her, watching her carefully, reaching further in his own right.

“I think it’s your turn,” he whispered, and even such softness was laden with a harsh quality, almost like the sound of tires over gravel, encapsulating dread like black ice on a dark night. It resonated through her, splitting her veins to tear through her heart in their shared vulnerability, but it made her background internal debate easier to reconcile.

“That’s fair. Fire escape, then.”

She opened her phone momentarily just to see the time, emitting a subtle groan upon learning it was barely after 8:00. They had a long day ahead of them, being Tuesday, and she wasn’t even sure how much she’d have left in her for the evening with how their morning started.

A short run to the bedroom to take what she needed and a brief insistence from Anders to put on a jacket and they were outside, where she sat down in her usual spot on that level’s top step and crossed her legs with one knee nearly pressed into her chest.

Anders waited for her to light her cigarette, and she hoped he couldn’t tell how painfully her shoulders tightened, how much closer into herself she tried to shift, how small she attempted to make herself.

“So that _thing_ that Norah and Corff tossed out of the Hanged Man…he wasn’t the first?”

His words were gentle, all manner of abrasion stripped away in the time it took him to ask, to see to her as she needed. She ached to embrace the way he spoke then, to absorb his voice into her skin like a salve, the healer’s touch it was intended to be, but she felt so far away and that ache only left her empty.

Smoke filled her lungs, felt cleansing like sage, a long inhale to postpone her reply before breathing out into the cold metal landing.

“Not…quite, I guess,” she answered hesitantly as though she had forcibly pulled her words from her throat, and her own voice had apparently taken the quality Anders’s had just lost, curled up into the rough he’d shed and made it its own. “He was the most…direct? Certainly the most violent, even though I honestly don’t think he knew that he was. He _was_ a special case even still, absolutely, and he definitely left the strongest mark. There were a few before him, though, yeah. They came in varying degrees. Mostly just entitled pricks who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, even if I told them to, but never escalated to the same level as…I don’t know, it’s really never made sense to me why it can still _feel_ like this. I mean, it’s not like I’ve gone through anything like you—”

It was Hawke’s turn to recoil when Anders’s hand brushed her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed him approach her, hadn’t caught him stepping away from the wall where he’d been leaning right beside the kitchen window to kneel down beside her.

“Don’t,” he offered carefully. “My experiences don’t invalidate yours, love. Your hurt is just as real as mine.”

She wasn’t proud of just how badly she needed to hear that, and she took a deep breath as she considered how to proceed.

“Anders, I…” She dedicated another long moment to the cigarette between her fingers, not wanting to relinquish it from her lips. “I put myself in a lot of messy situations even after I learned what I was. It’s not like I was ever going to get proper treatment for it, obviously, and of course I don’t blame anyone but the fucking Chantry for that. But I learned the term ‘bipolar’ fairly early on because that’s what Father had. I didn’t always quite know what it meant and I was a teenager before we fully figured out that I have it, too, but I think my parents suspected for a while before they sat me down to talk about it. Bethany’s depression was one sided, and that was too often treated as an ‘only,’ and that’s a big part of why I got so much more attention than her, even though her panic attacks could even rival mine, and I think the evidence speaks for itself on why viewing her problems as inherently less severe was a fucking terrible idea, but anyway. She was never quite as… _outgoing_ in her self-destruction as I was. A lot of the time it was like I was just fucking looking for trouble, and it wasn’t until after I’d placed myself in whatever fucked up scenario it was in that I realised what a clear mistake I’d made, no matter how much of an ‘I told you so’ it would have earned me if anyone knew. I ran off in the middle of the night falling all over myself on painkillers, or stoned into oblivion, or speeding. I snuck into taverns when I was underage or simply binge drank with whoever would buy for this dumb, desperate kid looking for an easy escape. In retrospect, it was probably a lot of ‘cry for help’ sort of gestures. I learned the hard way, though, a good few times, that when you’re out like that you shouldn’t _also_ talk to strangers. Fuck, you shouldn’t even put too much faith in people you only _kind of_ know beforehand when you’re wasted whatever which way like I so often was. It doesn’t typically end well. When you live your life like you’re ready to die at any moment, you find yourself in a lot of situations that make you wish you would all that much more.”

His hand had made it to her shoulder then, she noticed after she finished what had felt distinctly like rambling, and she welcomed it eagerly that time, almost playful in the cat-like way she briefly rubbed her face against it. No more words were spoken until she was finished smoking, such a simple thing that still sparked immeasurable gratitude.

“Trista,” Anders began once she scraped the end of her cigarette along the edge of the step. “Have you ever heard of borderline personality disorder?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered with a shrug, impressed when his hand stayed perfectly in place while she did, even as she immediately pulled out a second cigarette and quickly lit it between her lips. “Should I have?”

“Well, given the way mental health diagnoses are so bloody well gate-kept, I guess not,” he said with a soft smile. “But you should look into it. Bipolar explains a lot of what you just described on its own, believe me, I know, but the severity certainly warrants consideration for that, too.”

“I’ll Google it while I’m on break today,” she nodded. “Just remind me.”

“I will,” he replied affectionately, that care and concern she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to. “Perhaps we should have saved some of this for tonight.”

He managed to laugh with the thought, and she couldn’t help but return it. She was infinitely grateful that he’d even consider such a thing for himself, and she took a short drag before craning her neck to kiss the hand that still hadn’t moved.

“I suppose there’s nothing that doesn’t bear repeating,” she suggested. “Let’s just see how the evening goes?”

“That’s a fair plan, love.”

She finished her second cigarette and they crawled back inside. Despite how much time they thought had passed, there was yet a significant space between then and when they actually needed to get ready to start the day, but they moved forward anyway. They dug into the bagels Hawke had learned to keep a consistent stash of in Anders’s pantry and made more coffee, and they ended up going through three pots between the two of them before heading to Lowtown.

“Text me if you need anything,” he told her after they arrived at Lirene’s and he was just about to head back out to open the clinic. “Void, text me if you don’t. Keep me updated on how you’re doing either way, okay?”

“I will if you will,” she answered with a smirk.

“Fine,” he chuckled almost inaudibly and gave her a quick kiss. “Promise.”

“Promise,” she echoed and softly touched her lips to his once again, pulling away promptly before Lirene could add her own commentary.

They both had a rough day ahead of them, she had no doubt about that, and she struggled to find solace in knowing at least there was their weekly meeting to look forward to, as she had mostly grown to do. All the same, she absorbed herself into Lirene’s company, into even the more obnoxious customers, into watching items moving in and out for gift ideas, and in focusing on how Anders’s arms felt like home more and more each day, every chance she got.


	41. Demands of the Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussions of suicide attempts, discussions of sexual abuse/assault, mention of illness, references to Karl and Bethany, dysfunctional family, eating disorder reference
> 
> Also possibly worth noting that there's a couple of mini-breakdowns and semi-detailed depictions of PTSD and autism
> 
> This update sort of just alternates between fluffy and angsty, honestly a bit awkwardly, but the shifts felt right in context. But there's also a few little "see what I did there" things just because this chapter couldn't seem to make up its mind about whether or not it wanted to fight with me and that helped move it along.
> 
> No music this chapter.

_Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a pattern of abnormal behaviour characterised by extreme fear of abandonment; unstable relationships with other people, sense of self, or emotions; feelings of emptiness; frequent dangerous behaviour; and self-harm. Symptoms may be triggered by seemingly normal events. This pattern of behaviour typically begins by early adulthood, and occurs across a variety of situations. People with BPD often engage in idealisation and devaluation of others, alternating between high positive regard and great disappointment. Substance abuse, depression, and eating disorders commonly co-exist with borderline personality disorder._

“Well, shit,” Hawke whispered aloud to herself from her frequently occupied seat behind the shop.

_Borderline personality disorder is comorbid to bipolar in around 40% of cases._

_When people are diagnosed both with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder their courses of illness tends to be worse. People with both diagnoses tend to have a history of substance abuse and have had childhood symptoms of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Moreover, this dual-diagnosis group is at a higher risk of suicide._

She read through the diagnostic criteria and mentally checked off each trait that applied to her, which turned out to be just about all of them, and then closed the browser on her phone. She was almost pleased to have read that medications specific to borderline were non-existent and that treatments were apparently inconsistent in their success rates, as at least she didn’t have to feel like she was missing out on anything with her inability to seek help outside of those clandestine group sessions of questionable legality.

Reading gave her words to describe the experience, though, the validation she then learned that craving as she did was a part of the disorder itself, and it brought her a strange relief. The more time she spent with the Kirkwall Crew, the more she learned about all of them, and the more she learned about herself along the way, the more interested she found herself in all that it meant. She wondered what it could be to live in a world where people like their little crew could live in peace, without fear for what constituted “help” in the system as it was, for as much as she tried not to let her mind wander so wistfully.

Anders was probably a better doctor than any under Chantry sanction, anyway, even if his credentials were not quite up to par with their standards. Still, his snide remark about burning it down sounded better and better by the second.

He seemed to be doing better as the day progressed, at least. Her shift was almost over and he closed up at roughly the same time, and she was looking forward to seeing him soon even moreso than usual. They’d texted throughout the day, as promised, but they’d each been extraordinarily busy. They both needed it, there was no denying that, so she wasn’t exactly willing to complain, but she was still very pleased with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be much longer until she could sit for more than a cigarette’s length of time and try her best to relax for a couple of hours before everyone met up in the clinic.

She put out the end of the cigarette she’d gone outside for and went back in, and was immediately stopped by Lirene.

“Hawke, dear, I think you’ll like this one,” she said excitedly as she darted over to a new display. Wade and Herren had just come out with their new jewellery line, deliberately right on time for what was by then considered the impulse shopping portion of the season.

She picked up a small box bearing a single earring, a pale gold hoop so light at first glance Hawke thought it was silver, just large enough to fit snugly around the earlobe. It held a small but remarkable peridot, set centred at the bottom of the ring between two beads of amber. She was instantly taken by how the stone sparkled, as well as the thought of how the colours would complement Anders’s eyes, and Lirene’s own lit up in a similar fashion upon Hawke’s reaction to the piece.

“You were looking for ideas,” Lirene continued. “So, for your consideration…”

“Would he wear that?” Hawke was intrigued by it, and she knew that much was obvious, but she’d never seen Anders wear anything quite like it. She’d noticed the hole in his ear from where it had been pierced, but had never said anything to him about it, and she’d certainly never known him to make use of it.

“Oh dear, you should have seen that boy when I first found him,” Lirene practically giggled. “He wore the gaudiest jewellery, and lots of it. It was all pretty nice, too, so Maker only knows how he even came upon any of it, but…well, sometime around his first month or so running the clinic, he sold every last piece he owned. Took the whole lot down to Enchantments and then donated everything he got from it to this radical anti-Chantry mental illness awareness organisation. Just said he didn’t need them anymore and I never questioned him because, well, you know how he can get. He’d just lost a friend and he somehow seemed to think he was hiding how awfully hard he was grieving, but I know he’d love this. And if you got it for him, then he might even wear it, yes.”

“Well, you make a compelling argument,” Hawke smiled as she took the box from Lirene while another thought occurred to her. “Umm, do you happen to know the name of that organisation?”

“The Collective Underground,” she replied with a firm nod. “They hold protests outside Circles and Chantries all across Thedas, although it only happens every once in a while. Less and less all the time, actually. They usually get shut down rather quickly and the media keeps it hushed. I imagine there are bribes involved. I don’t know too much about what all they do, but in some countries ever having any affiliation with them’ll land you on a watch list. So if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, try anonymity.”

“Yes, messere,” Hawke laughed. “In any case, thanks for all the help. I will take the earring, too. This looks like a nice use of an employee discount, yeah?”

“Yes, dear, that it does,” Lirene answered, and she looked delighted when Hawke took the box to the register. “I’m afraid I can’t comp this one for you, but a discount there shall be.”

“You’ve already done enough for us, don’t worry,” Hawke replied gratefully before returning to the register to take care of what would be the day’s last few customers.

She purchased the earring as soon as Lirene switched off the sign and decided against making a comment at how hefty that discount actually was, finishing her own transaction and managing to slip the gift into her purse just seconds before Anders’s knock at the door.

***

It had been a while since Hawke was so nervous for a meeting, but she still found herself pacing a repeated half-circle near the front of the clinic door over and over as everyone else entered one by one past her and she anxiously remained outside, alone with her cigarettes. She’d told Anders she was going to slip out quickly for one before things got going, when there was still about a half hour left before it began. That was somewhere around four or five cigarettes ago. She didn’t take her phone out with her so she wasn’t entirely sure how much time had actually passed since, but she was fairly certain she was late.

“Hey,” Varric said quietly following the creak of the door being opened just enough for him to pop his head out, confirming her suspicions. “We’re waiting on you.”

“Shit,” she whispered back, mostly to herself, and then turned towards him. “Give me a minute.”

She gestured with her right hand to show him how little was left of what she was smoking then, to which he simply offered a mockingly exasperated, “Alright, _fine.”_

It didn’t take her long, as she expected, to finish the rest and she gave herself a long, frustrated sigh as she tossed away the end of it and then made her way back inside.

When she got to the back room she immediately noticed that the seating arrangement had altered slightly. Merrill and Isabela sat where Varric and Aveline did normally, and vice versa, leaving Hawke’s reserved chair between Anders’s and Varric’s. She assumed this was a fair indication that she was likely to be the main focus of the evening, which of course did not at all surprise her, even for as much as she had still hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

“How is everyone tonight?” Anders started just as he typically would, although he took Hawke’s hand at the same time.

“It was weird not coming here last week,” Merrill replied. “It threw off my whole routine and I understand why a break was needed but…oh, Creators, I’m sorry…”

“No, no,” Anders answered quickly. “I’m sorry, Merrill, of course that would have been difficult for you. This shouldn’t happen again, but if it does, please call me and we’ll figure something out, alright?”

“I, well…I thought about it but I knew you’d be with Hawke and I didn’t want to be a bother with so much going on already…I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Merrill wrung her hands in her lap just a little and Hawke tried her best to hold down her guilt. Enough had already been about her and even more promised to be, so she kept herself as quiet and as still as she was able in hopes of not overwhelming her friend further.

“You’re not rambling,” Anders offered with a warm, reassuring smile. “Besides, even if you were, that’s the whole point of this.”

“Thank you,” she responded shyly. “I’m not…I’m not being selfish, am I?”

“Of course not,” he answered again with that same expression, continuing in his comforting tone. “Holding to a routine, especially one that’s been consistent for as long as you’ve been coming here, Merrill, is fairly common for the autism spectrum. There’s nothing wrong with reacting to having that routine shaken, and I’m so sorry I didn’t consider how that might affect you. That’s on me, and I promise I’ll do better if it ever comes up again.”

“See, Kitten,” Isabela said softly. “I told you it would be okay.”

Merrill nodded softly, and Isabela moved in closer to her to wrap her arm around her shoulders.

“Was there anything you needed to talk about last week? You can still talk about it now.” Anders leaned forward a little and kept his eyes focused on Merrill, but Hawke’s hand remained firmly in his grasp.

“I guess so,” she replied after a moment’s silence. She looked to Isabela for a moment, who gave her a small, affectionate smile, and then looked back to Anders. “Marethari, my sort of foster mother, is sick. I got a call last weekend from Pol, another one of our…well, the Dalish don’t really live in clans as they were once traditionally known anymore, but for lack of a better term…and he said it doesn’t look good, and he told me it’s all my fault. That she’s been worrying herself half to death since I left. He wanted me gone so badly himself, but apparently I’m still a burden on them even now that I’m not there anymore.”

Merrill started rocking slightly, visibly shifting pressure rapidly between the balls of her feet and her heels, and Hawke felt her teeth press hard against the inside of her bottom lip.

“Merrill,” Anders said calmly. “There is no way her illness could possibly be your doing. Whatever it is, that isn’t fair to try to place the blame for it onto you. Do you know what she has?”

“I don’t,” she answered quickly, her frustration and self-doubt seeping itself clearly into her words. “I know she hasn’t seen anyone for it and Pol wouldn’t tell me anything besides what a fuck-up I am and always have been…”

“Would she come here if you asked her to?”

Merrill’s head perked up at the suggestion, and she took in a deep breath even as she kept moving in her seat. “I don’t…I don’t know, I…”

She paused as though she was searching for an end to her thought, but she only shook her head when none came.

“Ask her,” Anders offered gently. “Tell her you have a friend who will happily treat her privately without question or charge.”

“Oh, Anders, I…thank you.” Her movements did not cease, but they slowed considerably, and Isabela silently mouthed her own thanks in Anders’s direction as well.

“It’s the least I can do,” he replied instantly, easily.

“Oh, Hawke, I’m so sorry!” Merrill added just as soon as Anders finished his statement. “Creators, I…how are you?”

“You’re fine, Merrill, no need to be sorry,” she said as lightly as she could. “I’m…I’m alright.”

“Hawke,” Aveline retorted in her standard mother-voice, apparently still yet unable to fully give her much eye contact when she turned to look at her.

“No, really, I’m…” She glanced around the room and could plainly see that no one believed her. She couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the fact that she wasn’t even entirely lying, but she knew she wouldn’t believe such words from anyone else in her position either. “I’m better than expected, I suppose. Are _you_ okay, Aveline? You nearly lost your fucking job this week.”

“Don’t change the subj—”

“Actually, sorry, just a quick sidetrack here,” Fenris interrupted Aveline’s attempt against just that. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, I swear I’m not but…what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you don’t get to hurt my friends and get away with it,” Aveline responded bluntly. “Or at least, anymore than can be avoided. I’m sorry there wasn’t anything I could really do once I’d tracked him down…jurisdictions, statutes of limitations, all that noise…but Maker’s balls, Fenris, did you _really_ think I was just going to sit on my fucking hands while you’re at such a potential risk?”

“Okay, but Red,” Varric nearly laughed despite Aveline’s obvious irritation, “did you have to hand-write it?”

“Fuck, I…no,” she admitted with a huff. “I know that wasn’t my brightest move but I…I just _reacted._ I don’t usually act before I think like that but when I found out where he was staying, knowing what he’d done, I just couldn’t keep my head on. I honestly didn’t _want_ to let myself think about it. I didn’t _want_ to consider the consequences. Worrying about that shit’s why it took so long to bring Hawke here, and why Bethany never got the chance. Maybe _that’s_ why I did it the way I did it. With everything that’d been happening with Hawke, I couldn’t bear to let another opportunity to step up for a friend, no matter what might happen next, pass me by.”

“Oops,” Hawke offered playfully, or at least with her best attempt at such a demeanor.

“Well, thank you,” Fenris said sincerely. “I truly do appreciate it, more than I could ever say.”

“Just open up a fucking Word document or something next time, Big Girl,” Isabela teased.

“Maker, _again_ I beg of you, Blessed Andraste, _please_ don’t ever let that comment have any relevance,” Fenris snapped back with a smirk.

“Just saying,” she replied quickly with a chuckle.

“Anyway,” Aveline said with a sigh, “Hawke.”

“Wait, shit, Aveline—no, seriously,” she forced as Aveline opened her mouth in what was obviously protestation, “I…please, how are you, really? Carver told me our mother’s been trying to reach you. Desperately, from the sound of it. And we both know how she gets, so…well, how are you doing with that?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she confessed softly. “I did talk to her a little bit, it seemed only right. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, really, but…she’s just scared and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. Maker knows how poorly she’d handle it if you talked to her yourself but you haven’t since…and I don’t know, Hawke, maybe it’s time.”

“I’ll go with you,” Anders added without missing a beat, reminding her of his hand around hers with a gentle squeeze. “If and when you decide to see her, I’ll be there, okay?”

“Do you realise what you’re offering?” Hawke looked up at him with wide eyes. “I mean, obviously we’re going to have to lie through our teeth about…well, I guess just about everything we can, but…after everything you’ve heard, you’d really be willing to meet her?”

“She does kind of scare me, not gonna lie,” he replied with a smile and some semblance of a laugh that seemed to falter halfway through his throat. “But after everything I really don’t think you should do it alone.”

“Okay,” she answered, her voice struggling suddenly. “Thank you, love.”

“Of course,” he assured. “Anything in particular you’d expect? Anything we might be able to prepare for?”

“Probably just a nice, swift opening ‘what in Andraste’s name were you thinking, Trista?’ Or something along those lines,” she shrugged. “Otherwise I don’t even know.”

“What _were_ you thinking?” Isabela asked abruptly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, but I mean come on, you scared us all to the Void and back.”

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t thinking, I…fuck,” Hawke gritted and her brow furrowed at her own answer. Another look around indicated that she wouldn’t be getting out of it that easily, and she decided they deserved better than some bullshit cop-out of a response after all she’d put them through. “I wasn’t thinking at first, I guess. I hadn’t slept, I was… _episodic._ I was a fucking bullet train for a bit there and that set everything off. I didn’t think I even _could_ die. And after that, well, I’m honestly still not really sure. But then, at that point the idea was almost funny except that it made me feel…I don’t know, helpless? Then I crashed and I crashed hard and I don’t know, I just hate myself… _hated_ myself so fucking much that in that moment it’s like I forgot how to feel anything else. It’s hard to say, I don’t actually remember too much, but…”

The end of the sentence hung onto the tip of her tongue and the words felt somehow impossible to vocalise, even as Varric gently prodded, “But, Hawke?”

“But I told you before. I fucking told you before and you didn’t agree then and it looks like you wouldn’t agree now, but I told you.” Her voice cracked, she felt raw. She knew, of course she knew this was going to have to come up like it did then, that it was going to have to be laid bare before her friends in that exact context, but it didn’t make it any easier to do when the moment came. “I’m not worth it. You don’t deserve this.”

She gazed at the floor, her mind wrestling with itself over her own honesty. She had to give them that much, she reminded herself internally, but it had come out more brutally than she’d intended, as if that even made any sense. As if there was a more light-hearted way to accurately express such feelings. As if it could possibly have gone any other way without hiding, without lying. She knew better, she knew she knew better, that she’d done the right thing after all of her wrongs, but nothing felt any different except that she’d probably just broken their hearts in regards to the matter all over again.

And to think that aside from that long morning, it had almost been a good day.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke up again, practically a whimper.

“How about _you,_ Blondie?” Varric asked after a painfully long moment.

Anders briefly looked towards her at Varric’s question and flashed a quick nod which she didn’t quite understand the meaning behind.

“It’s been a little rough,” he replied once he faced forward again, and Hawke absent-mindedly cringed at how much he sounded like she felt, how much to blame she believed she had to be before he went on. “I couldn’t really sleep last night. Kinloch kept me up.”

His look to her made sense as soon as he said it, and she breathed out a strange sigh of relief at his words.

“Not that that’s uncommon,” he continued. “I suppose there’s still a part of me that always hopes that’ll stop being the case someday. Even though I don’t actually think it’ll ever happen.”

“I know what you mean,” Fenris noted softly.

“I know,” Anders said sadly. “I know you do. I fear we are far too similar, Fenris. Much more than you deserve.”

“I could say the same to you,” Fenris answered immediately. “In fact, I do.”

“Thanks,” Anders replied with a small, forced smile. “Fenris, do you…and of course if you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to say, but…do you feel it still? I mean, physically, like he’s actually there with you in the present?”

“Yes.” Fenris didn’t shift his eyes as he normally had whenever the subject had come up in the past, but met Anders’s, resolute. There was a profound sense of solidarity surrounding even that simple action, and it did not go unnoticed by the room.

“Wait,” Isabela spoke up tentatively, as though her voice did not want her words to be said. “You mean that…that’s actually a real thing? That’s a real thing that really happens to real people?”

“Yes,” Hawke offered delicately, adding her own obvious implications of sharing in her experience to this apparent bonding moment.

“Fuck, I…I was afraid it was just me.” Isabela had never appeared so vulnerable, her usual mask of confidence stripped from her completely even as Merrill moved to offer her a comforting kiss on her shoulder, then another to her cheek.

“Emma lath,” Merrill added quietly, using the Dalish endearment presumably to stress her intention. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I think that’s enough for one night, yes?” Isabela attempted a laugh, all the while her ever-expressive eyes betrayed her entirely. “Everyone okay if we call it here?”

“Will _you_ be okay, Isabela?” Anders asked gently in return.

“I think so,” she nodded. “I’m sorry, I know it’s fucking awful of me to even think but I…I actually sort of feel better about it now.”

“I understand completely,” Hawke assured, and Anders and Fenris both expressed their agreement as well.

“One more question,” Varric noted before anyone else could speak. “How are you two doing? I mean, I know how Red and I have been dealing but you, Anders…are _you_ okay on that front?”

“Thanks, Varric,” Hawke gritted in a whisper towards her friend, who shrugged casually back at her without another word.

“We’ve talked about it,” Anders said flatly. “We all know by now that I can’t say much given my own history. It’s not exactly an easy thing to take considering…considering, well…I’m keeping this one close for now, alright? I hope it’s okay with you, Aveline, that I don’t think I’ll be giving her back for a while yet.”

Aveline actually chuckled at that, and she leaned forward to look him directly in the eyes before she said, “I’m glad she’s in such good hands, Anders.”

“You know how much I just love it when you talk about me like I’m not here,” Hawke cut in, but there was no genuine bitterness to her comment, and she was even able to follow with a small laugh of her own.

“Hawke said sarcastically,” Varric retorted, causing Aveline to shake her head and Hawke simply to playfully nudge her elbow into his side.

“Okay, so,” Isabela interjected, clearly still ready to leave, “I assume I’ll see all of you minus one tomorrow night?”

“Mark me down as a ‘maybe,’” Aveline replied to Isabela’s utmost delight.

“See, Hawke?” Isabela added with a smirk. “It’s still so much more fun with you here. Stick around for us, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” Hawke answered with an uncomfortable twist of her lips, hoping nobody would remark upon her regrettable choice of words, and then immensely grateful that no one actually did as they all stood to make their parting rounds.

She caught Aveline taking Anders aside from across the room while she hugged Isabela and then Merrill goodbye, momentarily looking inquisitively towards their deliberate whispering but getting no read on it. She was promptly drawn away from it by Fenris’s approach to follow in their farewells, and she wasn’t honestly sure if she really wanted to know whatever they might have been discussing.

Varric was next, holding her for an uncharacteristically long time before heading out, and then Aveline finally made her way over to her.

“Let me know how everything goes with your mother,” she told her upon releasing her own embrace.

“Yeah,” Hawke said, the sense of dread over the impending ordeal wasting no time in its looming. “I think I’ll talk to Carver, maybe ask him if he knows when she’ll be home. I’ll probably just show up. You know, avoid dealing with it until the very last second, the usual.”

“Can’t say I blame you on this one,” Aveline smiled. Her friend’s eyes were still shaky looking at her, but it was getting better and that would have to be enough for the time being. “In any case, keep me posted, alright? I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she said sincerely, uncertain where else to go from there. It seemed Aveline felt the same, and she then waved goodbye to Anders as well before taking her leave.

Hawke and Anders walked upstairs in silence once the clinic had emptied, and claimed their normal places on the couch as soon as they’d made their way into the apartment.

“You okay?” Anders asked once they’d gotten comfortable, and Pounce jumped into his lap as soon as he did.

“I think so,” she answered honestly. “Aveline’s right, I am lucky to be in such good hands.”

“Believe me, love, it’s mutual.” Anders was nearly interrupted by an unexpectedly loud meow, and he burst out in genuine laughter. “He agrees.”

“I love you so fucking much, Anders,” Hawke replied with a wide grin and shifted to give Pounce a scratch below his chin. “You, too, baby.”

“Maker, I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” Anders looked obscenely pleased, and it made Hawke feel indescribably warm inside.

“Seems so,” she responded with a smirk, and then an extensive yawn. “Fuck, it’s been a long day.”

“Maybe we’ll even be able to sleep tonight,” he offered lightly.

“I fucking hope so. I think it’s already time to give it my best shot either way.”

She was surprised when he stood with her, much to the frustration of the cat who’d just begun to appear relaxed in his spot before he was abruptly forced out of it.

“Yeah,” Anders agreed. “Me, too.”

“Come on, kitty,” Hawke teased at Pounce, who was already heading towards the bedroom anyway.

They changed clothes and she noticed he looked like he’d recently put on a few pounds, and she must not have been able to contain how happy that made her.

“What’s that look for?” Anders asked, and she knew she was likely beaming despite how much she told herself that could yet do far more harm than good.

“I just…I’m just grateful I get to be the one to wake up next to you in the morning.” It wasn’t a lie, and her smile only grew as she spoke with the remarkable truth of it. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, and his eyes lit up at her in return.

They curled into bed and he wrapped his arms around her while she rested her head on his chest, nearly washing away all the anxiety of the evening.

“Stay with me forever, love,” she murmured against his grasp, and he tightened his hold on her.

“It would kill me to lose you,” he whispered roughly, echoing his words from the first night he told her he loved her, and she wondered if he’d even meant to say it. Either way it stung more than it had the first time, and suddenly her whole body arched in a vain attempt at suppressing the emotion rising inside her, only stilling when she lost that short battle with herself and started to cry.

“What is it, love?”

She shook her head, unable to find the words to describe whatever it was she was feeling, suddenly somehow overwhelmed by the sensation of living between lost and found, caught in the blur between safety and uncertainty.

“It’s okay, love,” he continued easily, his voice sanative, healer’s hands running fingers delicately up and down their reach. “I’m here. It’s alright.”

She nodded as she melted into his touch, soothing enough to alleviate at least some of the tension she didn’t even realise she’d been holding so harshly in her shoulders from always carrying so much grief with her. His gentle assurances continued as the dampness she was leaving in his shirt spread, repeated as though without thought for his own breath, yet she couldn’t seem to stop.

Eventually she fell asleep like that, somehow even through what felt like the unending spill of her heart onto his, still knowing she was safe there with him, to the point where even she was almost convinced they might be able to stay that way.


	42. Life, the Universe, and Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied/referenced emotional abuse/dysfunctional family, general anxiety, allusion to institutionalisation, allusion to illness, allusions to alcohol abuse, kind of-sort of unintentional ableism, aphobia mention
> 
> ["Shine" by Collective Soul](https://youtu.be/_m0bI82Rz_k)   
>  ["River" by Bishop Briggs](https://youtu.be/h5jz8xdpR0M)   
>  ["Cat on the Wall" by PJ Harvey](https://youtu.be/YnQaEa_OAd0)   
>  ["Twenty Years" by Placebo](https://youtu.be/EipGZpAUBws)   
>  ["Papercut" by Linkin Park](https://youtu.be/vjVkXlxsO8Q)

They had thankfully woken up the the blare of “O Fortuna” from Anders’s phone, to the both of them groaning in annoyance at the alarm before attempting to untangle themselves from each other.

Hawke had ended up completely sprawled across him, arms and legs and blankets alike all a mess trailing every which way, and they had both seemed in agreement that it was the perfect start to the day, despite how much more difficult that had made it to get out of bed.

Lirene’s enthusiasm for the season—or, really, its implications for Anders as well as Hawke—appeared to only be increasing by the day, and Hawke’s own enthusiasm towards such things, which had previously been practically non-existent, did the same in response.

She had actually managed to bring herself to text Carver while she was on break in regards to her planned confrontation—or at least that was the only term by which she could possibly seem to think about it—with their mother, and after his initial surprise he simply told her he’d see what he could find out and they’d talk about it later on at the Hanged Man.

Which made their entrance into the tavern that evening feel almost surreal. She’d had a decent day, realising that perhaps her comparatively  
minor emotional collapse the night before was far more necessary than she could have imagined, and she was in the perfect mindset for it, wherein she still needed the catharsis a good night of karaoke so often provided, but not so much so that she felt any sort of disaster it too often came with looming in any way.

So she supposed it was as good a time as any, if not better, to have such a discussion with her brother. They still showed up a bit late from her dragging her feet getting going, having missed introductions and apparently Varric’s first song, but they greeted their friends happily upon arriving as though it were any other night, regardless of her creeping nerves.

Carver was called up almost as soon as they sat down, which eased her mind a bit, at least buying her a little more time before she had to talk to him.

_“Give me a word, give me a sign, show me where to look, tell me what will I find…”_

“What’ll it be tonight?” Norah asked when she approached the table quickly after Hawke and Anders joined it.

_“Lay me on the ground or fly me to the sky, show me where to look…”_

“I don’t know, what am I allowed?” Hawke replied with a small laugh and looked towards Varric.

“Whatever you want so long as it’s in moderation,” Aveline said from behind her as she and Donnic joined the group, pulling up a couple of extra chairs to squeeze themselves in. “Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Varric chuckled, and Hawke nodded with a sarcastic chuckle and a roll of her eyes.

“Thanks, Mothers,” she said back, only made slightly awkward by the worry in the back of her mind. “Ah fuck it, I’ll stick with cider.”

“Same for me,” Anders followed.

“Good call,” Norah smiled with a subtle wink before heading off to fill their orders.

_“Whoa, heaven let your light shine down…”_

Carver didn’t have the right voice for the song at all, which made Hawke grin strangely while she reached for a book to pick out what she wanted to do first.

“Poor sod actually looks nervous up there,” Aveline noted. “File under ways I never imagined I’d refer to your brother…”

_“Love is in the water, love is in the air, show me where to look, tell me will love be there…”_

Hawke and Anders both expressed their appreciation to Norah when she brought them their drinks, and she looked at hers carefully to try to settle her head. She figured she’d probably need the help to get through the more promisingly difficult part of the evening, but she really wasn’t feeling up for making it into the shitshow it could so easily become if she didn’t keep herself together.

_“Teach me how to speak, teach me how to share, teach me where to go…”_

“One of these days I’m still going to get _you_ up there with me again, so help me,” Hawke spoke up, much to Aveline’s chagrin.

“One of these days, perhaps,” her friend teased. “Just don’t hold your breath.”

“But Aveline, it’s been yeeeeeears,” she whined playfully, and Aveline just shook her head in a poor attempt at concealing her amusement.

“Ten sovereigns says it happens in the next month,” Varric said, looking over towards Fenris.

“Twenty sovereigns says it happens _tonight,”_ he countered, and Aveline mockingly huffed when they reached across the table to shake on it.

“See, now you have to do it,” Hawke laughed at the exchange.

“I can’t even argue with that,” Aveline laughed. “Assholes.”

Hawke looked up only to stick her tongue out just before she internally finalised her selection.

“How are you feeling, Merrill?” Anders asked, to which she gave him a quick, tiny smile.

“A little better, I think,” she replied, and to her credit she genuinely did sound like it. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone yet, but it…it helps to have the option, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow?” He offered gently. “Just shoot me a text when you’re on your way, alright?”

“Thank you, Anders,” she said softly. “I will.”

_“Let your light shine on me…”_

Hawke made her decision and walked it up to the stand as Carver neared the end of his song, already trying to brace herself for when he sat back down, and Anders did the same just seconds behind her.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Aveline asked quickly, right before Carver handed the microphone back to Isabela.

“Not exactly,” she answered as quietly as she could. “We agreed we’d talk about it here.”

“For the best,” Aveline said as Carver returned, and she promptly leaned back into her seat as he did the same.

“Hey,” he said, glancing between Hawke and Anders both. “How’s it going?”

“Alright, I guess,” Hawke replied casually with a slight shrug.

“Alright,” Anders echoed. “How about you?”

“Can’t really complain,” he answered with a mimic of his sister’s responsive gesture, and he clearly noticed the sense of panic she felt upon greeting him. “First round of drinks, first round of songs, _then_ talk?”

“You know, I think I’m actually starting to like you,” Hawke answered with a smirk, and her brother stuck his tongue out at her in return.

“Better be careful, you two, first you’re getting along and now the next thing you know the sky’s gonna turn black and start raining fireballs,” Varric added.

“Aww, now that you mention it, I should’ve had them add Fireball to this,” Hawke teased and pointed to her cider.

_“How do we fall in love faster than a bullet could hit ya? How do we fall apart faster than a hair-pin trigger? Don’t you say, don’t you say it…”_

Isabela had given herself that turn, and Hawke decided to finally get started on that drink with which she’d been having an intermittent staring contest.

“You going next, Merrill?” Aveline asked, probably just trying to keep the tone before them light.

“I haven’t put anything in yet,” Merrill noted awkwardly. “I might still, we’ll see.”

_“Holy hands, ooh, they make me a sinner. Like a river, like a river. Shut your mouth and run me like a river…”_

“You sure you’re okay?” Anders inquired once more, and Merrill looked back at him as though unsure what precisely to say.

“As much as I can be right now, thank you,” she almost seemed to sigh, and Hawke’s heart dropped a little at the thought of how many times she herself had used that very line.

Any further prodding that might have occurred was cut off by Norah running back to their table and apologising profusely for not asking if Aveline and Donnic wanted anything, looking slightly embarrassed when they both said they were good for the time being.

_“Tales of an endless heart, cursed is the fool who’s willing. Can’t change the way we are, one kiss away from killing…”_

“Everything alright with you and Rivaini?” Varric apparently elected to resume interrogations, and he looked somehow entirely oblivious to the absolute death glare Anders shot him at how obviously uncomfortable Merrill appeared over the matter.

“Yes, don’t worry about that,” she said at least a bit more easily, although the smile she offered did not come out quite as such. “It just sort of ended up being a rough night for both of us.”

“Yeah,” Hawke added in an odd drawl, following with another drink.

_“Shut your mouth, baby, stand and deliver…”_

“Oh good, so shit got that real last night for everyone, then?” Fenris replied with a laugh, to which everyone but Carver and Donnic agreed.

“Do I even want to know?” Carver asked, trying to mask how curious he actually was with a strained chuckle.

“We were all having drinks at my place,” Aveline said instantly, and Hawke was truly impressed by how automatically she was able to offer up such a believable lie to save face for her carelessness. “Serious topics came up, like they do, and slowly but surely that turned out to be a less-than-ideal combination.”

“Fair enough,” Carver nodded. Merrill again looked as though she wanted to say something, but then she quickly looked up, took a breath, and grabbed a songbook instead.

“There you go, Daisy,” Varric said. He meant it affectionately, Hawke knew, but Anders still gave him another look at how easily his tone could have been confused for condescension.

_“Choke this love ‘til the veins start to shiver, one last breath ‘til the tears start to wither. Like a river, like a river…”_

Hawke moved back to her drink, and everyone else who had any seemed to take her lead, and a moment later she stood up with an unexpected level of enthusiasm at the call of her name.

_“Turn up the radio…”_

Isabela winked at her once she got started and then left her booth to check on the rest of their friends, and Hawke was undeniably relieved to see all visibly remaining tension disappear from Merrill when she made a beeline for her.

_“I heard our song on the radio, it wasn’t long before I think of you. Can’t get the sound outta my head. Don’t look now, it’s coming ‘round again…”_

Anders and Carver began talking, a sight which made her remarkably less anxious than it had yet before, although Anders’s eyes appeared to remain partially on her even as they did.

_“I saved your voice from the telephone, I play it back on the message machine. It really sounds like you’re having fun, I’m going out into the midday sun…”_

She wondered if Anders’s not-so-wandering gaze failed to go unnoticed when Carver made some comment or another and Anders suddenly looked flustered. She thought he might even have blushed, but the tavern’s lighting made it impossible to tell, even though the booth and their table weren’t actually very far from each other.

_“Come night, I’m gonna step outside. Take a walk, I’m gonna clear my mind. The radio, still playing our song. You got me jumping like a cat on the wall…”_

Anders pulled out his phone almost as soon as she’d sung the word “cat,” and she barely held back the urge to start giggling at the obvious assumption that it was to show Carver photos of Pounce. Not even just because he was so easily excitable when it came to his favourite animals and how positively adorable she found his reactions to them, but also because the action served as a very clear indication of how comfortable he was becoming with having such nice little normal elements his life, just as she was.

_“Turn up the radio…”_

She struggled a little bit with the higher notes, always envious of PJ Harvey’s ridiculous range, and felt slightly guilty for judging her brother’s earlier performance even if she hadn’t said anything out loud. He and Anders looked like they might even have started joking with each other, although she wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about that prospect.

_“They play the radio in my dreams, takes me back to when I was 17 dancing in circles on the kitchen floor. I’ll play this song ‘til I can’t take anymore…”_

The demeanor between Anders and Carver shifted a little as she finished the final verse of the song, and she was grateful to pass the microphone back to Isabela, who resumed her station just in time, as the scene did gnaw at her nerves just a bit, and she hoped that didn’t mean they were that much more fragile already than she thought they were.

Anders was, of course, next in the queue, and he poked at Hawke’s nose and then stopped to kiss it while they were passing each other, causing her to involuntarily crinkle up her whole face along with it, and she could only imagine how silly it looked, but the way Anders lit up made it completely worthwhile.

She was still smiling when she sat back down and was instantly met with Varric’s typical playful aside, “Gross.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Fenris teased back at him before she could say anything herself.

Varric only rolled his eyes at Fenris, apparently unwilling to touch that topic. It had always been a little bit of a sore subject for him, though, stemmed from his older brother’s constant teasing about why Varric never actively sought romantic or sexual companionship for himself, and it led him to become rather closed off regarding such matters. He did genuinely have the heart of the cliché hopeless romantic in theory, and he happily applied such ideology to his friends and his fictional creations, which according to Varric apparently grew to help mean fewer people questioned it the older he got, and the less he therefore actually had to deal with caring what they thought.

“No, that’s still just gross,” Carver laughed. “I know, I know, I’ll get used to it…eventually…maybe.”

_“There are twenty years to go and twenty years to know who will wear, who will wear the hat. There are twenty years to go, the best of all, I hope. Enjoy the ride, the medicine show…”_

Hawke almost forgot that she was about to prod at her brother when she recognised what Anders was singing, and how there could be no way the punch behind his choice was unintentional given the way such lyrics would have to resonate with him.

_“And them’s the breaks for we designer fakes, we need to concentrate on more than meets the eye…”_

It could easily have just been a simple need to get such emotion out in that way, not necessarily an expression of something being wrong in relation during that precise moment, she knew that well from experience. It sat with her all the same, however, a strange sense of guilt even she knew was not hers to bear, quite possibly exacerbated so by the fact that she was yet looking to attempt a reconciliation with the one who taught her to carry everything so heavily the way she did.

“So,” she decided to start towards Carver after too long a moment lost in her own head, “what were you two talking about?”

“You, obviously,” he laughed. “You two, honestly…you’re fucking perfect for each other. I never thought I’d see the day…”

_“The faithful and the low, the best of starts, the broken heart, the stone…”_

Hawke shook her head and finally reached into her bag to pull out her cigarettes, lighting one before adding, “Love you, too, brother.”

_“But it’s you I take for you’re the truth, not I…”_

“Andraste’s tits, you know what I…” Carver gave her an intentionally over-the-top pout when the rest of the table started laughing. “No one’s gonna back me up here?”

“Sorry, Junior,” Varric chuckled and picked up his pack. “Wrong crowd.”

_“There are twenty years to go and many friends, I hope. Some may hold the rose, some hold the rope…”_

Hawke began to nervously tap her feet in time with the music, doing her best to watch Anders while considering how much more suspicion she was willing to risk gaining from her brother before everything fell apart. She had, in fact, started to ask herself if perhaps one day she’d be able to let him in on even that secret, but she knew that day was not then and she worried she’d already thrown up enough red flags, and she therefore found herself critiquing every little movement she made that could even have the slightest potential of opening up that path to him.

_“That’s the end and that’s the start of it, that’s the whole and that’s the part of it, that’s the high and that’s the heart of it, that’s the long and that’s the short of it, that’s the best and that’s the test in it, that’s the doubt, the doubt, the trust in it, that’s the sight and that’s the sound of it, that’s the gift and that’s the trick in it…”_

By that point she was casually, or as close to casually as she could get, singing along under her breath between each inhale, smoke clouding her face as she breathed out the words and hopefully doing at least a little something to conceal her facial expressions.

Fenris got up and walked over to Isabela, chatting briefly as Anders approached the end of his turn.

_“You’re the truth, not I…”_

“You’re welcome,” he laughed when he nudged Hawke before sitting back down, and Anders came back as well a moment later.

“And now for an interlude, by request,” Isabela announced, and Hawke looked anxiously between Anders and Carver, realising what Fenris meant.

_“Why does it feel like night today? Something in the air’s not right today…”_

“Take this outside?” Carver asked, and Hawke was a bit alarmed to see he looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt.

“Yeah,” she and Anders replied in unison.

“BRB,” Carver addressed collectively to the rest of the group with an awkward smile, and the three of them made their way through the tavern, Anders’s hand held firmly against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but there just was no way that obligatory title for this chapter number wasn't gonna happen whether it seemed entirely relevant or not, oops.
> 
> But hey, feel free to come and visit me on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com)!


	43. When Aberration Is Normality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dysfunctional family, general anxiety, brief, vague suicide attempt reference, sort of ableism, mentions of Bethany
> 
> ["Little Earthquakes" by Tori Amos](https://youtu.be/MqnssBkUSS8)

Hawke nervously finished her cigarette with the hand that Anders did not hold tightly in his own as they and Carver exited the Hanged Man.

Serious conversations along the outside wall felt in that moment like it had become almost a given on those nights that were always intended to be a brief escape from such things. That wasn’t actually entirely true, of course, but it remained a frustrating thought with how much accuracy there genuinely still was to it.

“So,” Hawke started once she’d extinguished the end of the cigarette into the outdoor ashtray she too regularly forgot about, “just how bad of an idea is this, then?”

A nearby street light flickered, a common occurrence in such a poorly maintained part of the city, but it did not help her sense of foreboding over the topic at hand.

“How good are you with diplomacy, Anders?” Carver laughed, but Anders only shook his head.

“I’m not sure how good of a mediator I’d make,” he replied with the same light tone. “I do have an obvious bias on the matter, after all.”

“To be fair, you’d probably be better at it than Aveline,” Hawke added. “They never had any problems when we were younger, and she _was_ always grateful for the way my mother treated her as one of her own, but as we got older and they both got more stubborn…”

“Once we moved here all bets were off, yeah,” Carver finished for her. “In retrospect it’s kind of a surprise it didn’t happen sooner. After all, you _are_ right; she really did treat Aveline the way she treated the rest of us.”

“Ehh, this city does weird shit to people,” Anders muttered with a smile, and the Hawke siblings both nodded in response, the bitterness of Carver’s comment not lost on any of them.

“In all seriousness, Trista,” her brother continued, “it’s probably an absolutely fucking terrible idea, but you’re right that it’s been put off long enough.”

“Wait, sorry,” Hawke replied with a smirk. “Can you repeat that for me, please? I never can get enough of you admitting when I’m right.”

“Love, focus,” Anders interjected with a second of extra pressure against the hand he hadn’t yet let go of, even when she started using the other to fumble around her pocket trying to acquire another cigarette and her lighter with just the one.

“Aww, come on, didn’t you catch that? He just said it twice in a row!” Hawke’s attempt at deflection was met only with a low chuckle from Anders and the roll of Carver’s eyes.

“Well, Carver,” he continued, and Hawke let out a short sigh of relief that she finally managed to retrieve what she was searching for. “Obviously I’ve never met her so…I don’t know, do you have any advice, I guess?”

“She’s going to have questions, I’m sure,” Hawke spoke up tentatively. “About you. About me. About us. About anything else she can come up with in regards to the time that’s passed since I last saw her, really.”

“She also knows you’ve made a lot of friends, sorry,” Carver admitted. “I let that one slip after you moved all of your things out. I’m not asking, but she most likely will.”

She glanced up at Anders before she attempted to actually smoke the cigarette she held firmly between her fingers, and she worried at how overwhelmed he looked just talking about it.

“Okay, so,” Hawke breathed out in a strangely airy, higher pitch before she finally lit up, moving slowly and carefully one-handed. “Ah. Right, so I’ve been pretty much MIA for months, I have a large group of friends all of a sudden, one of which I’m legitimately _dating,_ I moved without even telling her, and then there’s all that should accompany that _other_ minor detail. _And_ that all of this came as a direct result of losing Bethany, which is still my fault. Oh yes, this should be easy! Why didn’t I think of it sooner!”

“Yes, snark, that’ll help,” Carver responded as he crossed his arms.

“Pot, kettle, black,” Hawke retorted, which her brother acknowledged with a nod and a shrug, although he held his seemingly guarded stance.

“Okay, never mind, I _am_ asking,” Carver decided. “What…what _has_ happened with you, Trista? I’m not complaining, I mean I’ve never seen you so personable. Void, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you actually seem _happy,_ but I can’t even try to tell you with a straight face that it isn’t really fucking confusing.”

“Well,” Hawke almost laughed out the cloud of smoke she exhaled with the word, but only shook her head at herself against his statement. “You’re not wrong, although I’m going to try not to think about what the fuck that says about me for the time being.”

“It says things are looking better, love,” Anders chimed in, and she genuinely smiled at the comment. “After far too long, it sounds like.”

“That’s all very touching and everything, but seriously.” Carver and patience never had gotten on very well, and Hawke scoffed thinking that some things don’t change after all. “I…I’m trying to become someone you can trust, Trista.”

“You know that’s going to take time, Carver,” she told him, much more quietly. “And regardless of when we get there, that sure as fuck doesn’t mean I can tell _her_ anything.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette and watched her brother’s face adopt an uncomfortable desperation.

“I know, but—”

“I met everyone in there through Varric and Aveline, and that’s the truth,” she tried nervously. “They’re all friends of theirs and now they’re friends of mine.”

“Alright,” Carver accepted. “That doesn’t explain why we’d never seen them around before, though.”

“Sorry, love,” she solemnly noted to Anders when she pulled her hand away. “I need…I need to sit down. You know, if we’re going to keep having these little _moments,_ I think I’m gonna ask Varric to have a bench or something installed out here…”

She slowly made her way to the ground and pulled her pack and lighter from her pocket to rest beside her. Anders and Carver each remained standing, and she watched them both shift awkwardly on their feet as she looked up at them and finished the rest of her cigarette in silence, and it looked like neither of them quite knew where to go from that point themselves. She neglectfully tossed the end into the street and automatically lit another while she crossed her legs and huffed to no one in particular at the position in which she’d placed herself as well as them, but made a clear point all the while not to look down despite what a challenge that so quickly became.

“Carver,” Anders finally said, and the serious nature his voice took on caused Hawke to grimace slightly. “I’m the doctor who treated your sister.”

“Anders, please,” she pleaded with wide eyes. “You don’t have to—”

She remembered Fenris’s suggestion from the first time Carver came out to join them, and it took everything in her power not to bash her own head against the wall where she sat when she did.

“Shit,” she began again, “Anders, we fucking talked about this, dammit, I…I met everyone here, fuck, is it too late for that line?”

“You _discussed_ this?” Carver’s temper flared up in an instant, as she should have foreseen, as she well knew it to do, and he appeared offended almost to the extent of anger. “You talked about how you wanted to lie to me, great, I feel so _honoured_ to have come up in your new happy little family’s conversations like that!”

“You fucking know why, Carver,” she snapped. “I just fucking told you this is going to take some fucking time but oh please, do fucking forgive me if my initial response to all of this bullshit was to try to cover not even my own ass but everyone fucking else’s!”

She took what felt like an impossibly long drag from her cigarette and watched Anders pinch his thumb and his forefinger into the bridge of his nose in reaction to the conflict, how their voices rose and carried before they could even take them into account.

“Take a fucking picture,” Carver called to the couple of passers-by across the street who had stopped to stare at the spectacle they’d created, both of whom then moved into something of a jog away from where they’d stood.

Anders’s other hand shook upward to join the first, which then trailed a few inches down his face to cover his mouth while his brow furrowed and his eyes shut tight.

“Are you alright?” Carver asked him directly, a response to his audibly sharp intake of breath and the way his anxious shifting turned into practically pacing in place, although a touch of seething still lingered through the question.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he lied hastily, the sound of it muffled slightly by his fingers. “Don’t, don’t worry about it.”

Another smoke-laden exhale and a hard swallow, and Hawke turned her eyes towards her brother. “Carver, please, I…I’m sorry, I’m…I’m not, actually, no. You have no fucking clue what the past few months have been like for me, not really, and I won’t pretend for a second that it’s been easy on you, but you know damn well that I have good fucking reason not to be open about shit and I can’t in good conscience apologise for trying to protect those I love, even if it’s from someone else I love, too. Your intentions are good, I know that, but you do _not_ understand fear like I do, alright? I’m trying, I’m fucking trying _so fucking hard_ and I need you to understand that as well as you can, or I don’t even know what the fuck we’re doing here right now.”

“Dammit, Trista,” Carver sighed heavily and finally let his arms fall back to his sides. “Fuck, I…I’m stealing a cigarette, I left mine inside.”

“Fuck it, here you go,” she deadpanned before she placed the one she’d nearly finished between her lips just to hold and picked up her pack to extend it up towards him.

“Thanks,” he muttered once he procured one for himself and handed the rest back, and she again mindlessly threw the end of her last aside and picked out another, as well. “I’m sorry, Anders. I didn’t mean to…I think that line _would_ work on Mother, at least. So, you’re a doctor? I imagine it’s a safe assumption that you are _not_ employed by the Chantry, then?”

It was Anders’s turn to cross his arms and he looked back to Carver with a firm nod before he cleared his throat in order to force himself to speak. “Yes, that would be the case. I operate privately, on my own terms, and by the grace of _something_ I ended up in a shit neighbourhood everyone including the authorities apparently prefers to stay out of. Of course I welcome anyone and everyone in need, but I still have to try not to make myself too visible, you understand.”

“Wait, _you’re_ the fucking Darktown Healer?” Carver looked at Anders in what Hawke could only define as awe, and she immediately took another hit from her cigarette to keep herself from laughing at the sight of it.

“Andraste’s knickers, I am going to _kill_ Lirene,” Anders replied with a tinge of laughter himself.

“No, you’re not, love,” Hawke added with a small smile. “At least not until Varric’s stable enough to consider hiring new people…”

“I didn’t hear it from her,” Carver chuckled. “Maker, though, the way people talk—grandiose nickname and all—I pictured you as some fucking wizard type who, like, _glows_ or some shit.”

“I’m almost afraid to…nope, you know what, no, don’t want to know,” Anders replied, obviously amused by Carver’s description.

“I mean, it’s a good thing,” he shrugged. “From what I hear, you make a world of difference to those who need it most. Unfortunately the majority of what I’ve heard about you’s been from the cocksuckers I work for…I, umm, imagine Trista’s told you about that.”

“Yes, she has,” Anders answered hesitantly. “So you can see why there might be…difficulty…”

“Yeah,” Carver admitted. “Look, your secret’s safe with me, alright? I promise. I know who I work for and if I didn’t need the fucking money so bad—you’re not the only one trying to get out on their own, Trista—then I’d probably have stormed out of there my first fucking week. Still, sometimes I don’t know if it’s…Maker, the things that go on in that place. At least my job right now is basically just to stand at the door and look somewhat threatening, but I _know_ I’m still fucking complicit and that…I will never truly get you, Trista, I know, but I think I understand more every day I have to spend in that place.”

“Thank you,” Hawke spoke up again finally, trying to crawl out from her loss for words. “What about Anders, though, you said they talk…”

“They do, yeah,” Carver said, the most sympathetic she’d ever seen him. “I don’t know how much they know about you as a person; obviously I’ve never even heard your name come up. They don’t like that you’re here but I don’t think there’s actually anything they can _do_ about it. But given how _this_ train of thought even fucking got started, Anders, if the obvious implications are to be made into assumptions here and you do, well, deal in anything… _crazy_ …that they don’t know, and in that case you _really_ need to fucking keep it that way.”

“As subtle as you are sensitive, Carver,” Hawke smirked in her best attempt at ignoring her still rising guilt over the situation at hand. “Honestly, though, Carver…I know I have to do this, I know, but I’m just fucking scared, okay? I’m afraid of what she’s going to say, how she’s going to feel. I’m afraid of what she’s going to want to know, how well I’ll handle it when it comes. I _can’t_ lose this, Carver, I can’t. I can’t risk them. I’ve only just finally started to feel like I…shit, like I _belong_ somewhere, and I will _not_ let anything get in the way of that.”

There was a strange moment that passed between the three of them, steeped in vulnerability and desperation, struggling for compassion, and Hawke shut her eyes and silently begged something or someone to give her this reprieve, to allow her this reconciliation without regret.

“I asked her about when she’ll be home this week,” Carver said softly after a good minute or so. “I didn’t tell her why, I kind of think she thinks I was trying to plan a fucking house party or something. Most evenings, and all day Saturday. I vote you wait. I’ll get off work around 5:00 in the fucking morning, so I won’t be a bother but I’ll still be around. It gives you some time, and then you get to come here after. That’d be my plan if I were you.”

“Same here,” Anders agreed, and Hawke couldn’t help but feel like she was watching the second coming of Andraste unfold before her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely, “yeah, that sounds—”

_“Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again…”_

Hawke recognised Merrill’s voice carrying from the Hanged Man’s speakers when the front door opened, cursing herself quietly enough that no one else seemed to hear upon realising just how much they’d likely missed.

“Hey, everything alright out here?” Aveline asked through the doorway, holding it ajar.

“So-so?” Hawke shrugged as she looked up at her from the sidewalk. “What’s up?”

“Donnic and I really need to get going soon,” she replied with an odd grin, “and you’re damn right that I’m not gonna let Varric win that bet.”

Hawke moved to find her way to her feet at that with a soft laugh under her breath.

_“Oh these little earthquakes, here we go again…”_

“I fucking knew it,” she said with a smile that was not quite as forced as she expected it to be once she finally got herself standing again. “You’re the best.”

_“Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces…”_

“Come on,” Aveline shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.”


	44. Such Strange Little Gifts of Light from the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: vague nods to dysfunctional family and hypersexuality, discussion of Malcom Hawke, one quick and also fairly vague reference to Anders's PTSD
> 
> This is a pretty damn fluffy one and the next chapter intends to be, as well. Another quick break for the Crew before other storylines start moving back along. I also just really fucking love writing the good-friends-hanging-out-and-bantering scenes if anyone can't tell, haha.
> 
> ["Never Let Me Go" by Florence + the Machine](https://youtu.be/zMBTvuUlm98)   
>  ["Where Is My Mind?" by the Pixies](https://youtu.be/yFAnn2j4iB0)

“Jack and Coke, please!” Hawke practically shouted as she moved back into the tavern alongside Aveline, Anders, and Carver.

She found herself in a strangely chipper mood upon reentry, possibly because of Aveline but equally possibly in an attempt at suppressing the tone that had carried the conversation outside. She was, however, in no mind to question the sudden shift while she grabbed a slip of paper to deliver to Isabela, who’d just started upon taking another turn of her own.

_“Looking up from underneath fractured moonlight on the sea, reflections still look the same to me as before I went under…”_

She left her request at the booth directly on top of Isabela’s equipment and sat back down to await her order with a smile, and she was additionally pleased to notice Merrill humming along, that it looked like she was feeling a bit better at least for the moment.

_“And it’s peaceful in the deep cathedral where you cannot breathe. No need to pray, no need to speak, now I am under all. Oh, and it’s breaking over me, a thousand miles out to the sea bed, found the place to rest my head…”_

“Trista, are you alright?” Anders caught her mildly by surprise with his hand rested gently against the forearm.

_“Never let me go, never let me go…”_

“Yeah, why?” She asked suspiciously, looking back at him with a grin she could not possibly have explained if she tried. “Should I not be?”

“Well, I mean,” Anders replied incredulously, concern in his eyes unfaltering. “I obviously don’t want to say yes to that, but given the current circumstances I guess I just…”

He seemed to lose his train of thought, his gaze striking straight into hers, and she nodded her understanding of his questioning, of the intention behind it.

“You’re not,” he continued in a lowered volume and an extra punch of severity, “feeling…suddenly energetic or restless or anything?”

“No, love, I’m not feeling manic,” she replied softly. “I’m just…well, I guess I’m just trying.”

It was the only explanation she could come up with, and it felt a reasonable one at that. She knew why Anders might be hesitant to believe her, knew why the crinkle of his eyes did not yet cease after such an answer, knew even still that the feeling could so easily turn on its head and come crashing down around them, but if for that little bit she could embrace a rare touch of contentment, she wanted to let herself have it, however difficult that was for her to do.

“Just…make sure you let me know if you can’t sleep or anything tonight, alright?” There was so much love in his voice, so much worry but the affection it accompanied so prevalent, so soothing even though she didn’t particularly feel she needed that aspect as much as he seemed to. “Promise you’ll wake me if you need me.”

“I promise,” she replied with full sincerity. “And you know the same goes for you, right?”

“I know,” he smiled.

“Well, we both know it can’t hurt to tell you again,” she said before kissing his nose, and his hand drifted upwards to rest itself upon her cheek as though mechanically inclined. “And if you’re worried about me not sleeping, I know of one good way for us to try to prevent such a thing…”

She offered a poor attempt at a wink, and she was immeasurably relieved when he laughed in return.

_“Never let me go, never let me go…”_

“I really don’t need to hear these things, you know,” Carver spoke up, and she realised she’d all but entirely forgotten they were at a table completely surrounded by so many people they could barely fit into even such a space as sizable as where they sat.

“Oops,” she chuckled back at him shamelessly.

_“And the arms of the ocean are carrying me, and all this devotion was rushing out of me, and the questions I have for a sinner like me, but the arms of the ocean deliver me…”_

“Alright, Hawke,” Aveline said once she and Anders separated and fully returned themselves to their friends. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did you put in for us?”

“You’ll see,” she answered with a smirk, to which Aveline looked like she nearly cringed. “It’s a good surprise, I swear.”

“So that’s twenty sovereigns, Varric,” Fenris noted with a cocky smile.

“I fucking hate you all,” Varric teased back and reached for his wallet. “Fine…”

“You’re welcome, Fenris,” Aveline laughed, to which Fenris nodded playfully.

“And _you_ are welcome, as well, Hawke,” he added in her direction.

“Indeed,” she replied cheerfully. “Thanks. Oh! And thank _you!”_

Her drink arrived just as she was finishing her thought to Fenris, and Norah looked as confused as Anders, but she responded gratefully all the same, evidently also pleased to see Hawke in such an uncharacteristically, inexplicably good mood.

“Oh no,” Aveline said once Hawke finished her first swig of her newly presented cocktail. “I know that look. Anders, you’re in for it tonight.”

“Oh?” Anders inquired simply, amused in his own right.

“She’s going fun drunk on your ass,” Varric chuckled. “Haven’t seen that one in a while.”

“Why is that an ‘oh no’?” Anders wondered, his eyes moving back and forth between her two oldest friends.

“She was fun drunk on my couch once,” Varric started to explain. “The other woman involved seemed to be having a _very_ good time, as well, but this asshole kept me up all damn night and then I spent the whole next day scrubbing the fucking cushions just to be safe.”

“Maker’s balls, please stop,” Carver interjected quickly.

“Oh sod off, Carver,” Hawke laughed. “We’re all adults here.”

“There are still things you don’t need to ever have to picture about your sister, Trista,” he retorted.

“Yeah, yeah,” she smiled sarcastically and continued drinking.

_“And it’s over, I’m going under but I’m not giving up, I’m just giving in…”_

“You seem happier today, Hawke,” Merrill chimed in. “It’s nice.”

“Thank you,” she said softly to Merrill, and then promptly overtly side-eyed Carver, Varric, and Aveline.

“As am I,” Donnic added, almost a paternal tone to his voice, and Hawke nearly laughed out loud at how thoroughly Aveline had grown to rub off on him when it came to her, which was only made funnier when he continued, “And I’m glad you’ve been staying with Anders because I’m going home with this one and we both have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Have fun with that one, Blondie,” Varric added with a wink, and Hawke and Anders both laughed in reply.

They weren’t wrong, after all, she could feel the slight rise of intoxication creeping up on her. Her tolerance must have reduced more drastically than expected as a result of how intensely monitored she’d been recently, must have only been continuing to do so, and she was taken aback by just how good that felt.

“And now for what I can only imagine will be the real highlight of the night,” Isabela happily announced from the stand, and Hawke and Aveline both rose to join her there.

“Okay, fine,” Aveline whispered as it started, before she moved to hold her microphone properly. “Good call, you win.”

Hawke offered her friend a wide grin and a small laugh, which cut into the intro.

_“With your feet in the air and your head on the ground, try this trick and spin it, yeah. Your head will collapse but there’s nothing in it and you’ll ask yourself, where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Out in the water, see it swimming…”_

She’d known full well Aveline would appreciate the consideration behind it, her choice being the ending track from their shared favourite movie that had been a huge mark of their friendship when they were growing up, so young and so full of anger and disdain for the world as it was, even though they did not fully realise how bad it truly could be, how much harder it could get.

The progression of the night had not gone nearly the way she’d thought it would, a fact for which she could not possibly have been more thankful. The next day would be another, of course, and it would find its own way whatever exactly that meant, and Saturday would arrive to bite her in the ass before she knew it, but it felt good to be able to enjoy the rest of the time at hand, the remainder of their night out she’d been so rightfully anxious to begin.

Her duet with Aveline felt like it was over almost as soon as it had begun, and their whole table had decided to give a standing ovation in good fun, even if such a gesture was mostly intended as a means to make fun of Aveline.

“Well, I suppose there really is a first time for everything,” Donnic laughed once they returned to the group, and Aveline could only shake her head despite the grin she unabashedly wore.

“Totally worth it,” she replied, looking toward Fenris in reference to the implication of her statement, and he gave her a playful thumbs up, to which Varric flipped up his middle finger. “Maker, though, we really should get going.”

“See you later, then,” Hawke said as she stood up to hug both she and Donnic goodbye, and everyone else waved at them from their seats.

“Well, that was fun,” Hawke smiled before she moved to chug the rest of her drink.

“Good,” Carver said. “I think I’m going to head out, too, though. I’m going to need to bleach my brain after tonight, so thanks very much for that.”

“You’re welcome, Junior,” Varric replied instantly, and Carver only sighed as he stood up and also waved farewells around the table as well as to Isabela from her booth.

“Love, I think we should probably get going, too,” Anders added once Carver had made it out the door. “I’m _already_ not looking forward to having to deal with a morning tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” she answered with a grin. She felt light, undeniably pleased and for no real reason, like there was something that had been latent for so long she had no idea it was in her, or perhaps even something entirely new born of the life she’d so recently started building that hadn’t shown itself previously, coming to the surface.

They, too, made their parting rounds to everyone left, and Hawke lit a cigarette as soon as they crossed through the front door.

“Just give me a minute.” She was still smiling, still not entirely sure why, but it seemed even she herself was not going to take this from her this time. “So I have to ask…what were you and Carver talking about earlier back there? You looked like you were having a pleasant conversation but then you didn’t, and Maker knows _he_ was never going to give me a straight answer when I asked him about it…”

“He’s glad to see you’re doing better,” Anders shrugged. “For as difficult as that seems to be for him to admit. As far as the more serious note, that line about the song on the radio taking you back, well, he said it was just like you and your father. Apparently we have similarities, or so that’s what I gather he thinks, and from what you’ve said I don’t think he’s alone in that opinion.”

“No, you definitely do,” she answered. “Is that weird?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” he smiled. “We didn’t have time to get too into it, obviously, but it sounds like you were the favourite. Or at least your brother feels that way.”

“I can see that, yeah,” she replied nervously, tending to her cigarette between Anders’s responses. “I don’t believe that was ever really the case, of course, but it’s not really a stretch to imagine why he’d think it was. I’m sure that has a lot to do with why he’s always been so desperate to prove something. Especially with Father. I mean, _everyone_ loved him. He was just that kind of person who made you feel safe simply by being in his presence, and everyone who knew him absolutely fucking _adored_ him. So yeah, that really _should_ sound familiar to you.”

“If you say so, love.” Anders didn’t appear to have any actual idea what to say in response, but she felt her eyes light up at the way he looked at her when words failed. “Come on, we need to get home. You can finish that in the car.”

“Alright, love,” she agreed with a ridiculous grin. She was really only tipsy, but at that perfect level she usually blew too far past, where she could simply enjoy the feeling, where she could genuinely enjoy herself.

“Are _you_ okay?” She continued as they started walking the few blocks down the street to where Anders had parked. “‘Twenty Years’ didn’t seem exactly subtle for you.”

“Yeah, I am for the most part,” he answered softly. “I just…needed that, I guess. Taking my cue from you, I think.”

“Did it help?”

“A bit.”

“Well…good.”

She reached over to him before they could even quite yet see the car, inadvertently dropping her cigarette as she took his face into both her hands without thinking, standing on her tiptoes to close the few inches’ difference in their height and kissing him hard, parting his lips with her tongue while one hand slipped into his hair to pull him in closer.

“Oh,” he breathed out, his voice already thick and raspy when he pulled away after only a few seconds. “Fuck, Trista…let’s go home.”

“Mmm,” she hummed happily. “Yes, let’s.”

And when they finally sat down in Anders’s beaten down little coupe, they couldn’t get there fast enough.


	45. Aria for Wildfire, Ode to Burning from the Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY DID IT.
> 
> This chapter is entirely comprised of unadulterated smut and absolutely nothing else. Yes, that's right, for the very first time this fic there's just fucking, 100% untainted by angst. It only took me 45 goddamn chapters to manage that one. But for right now they are happy and nothing terrible happens and they are okay throughout this whole update.
> 
> Note, it is rough with D/s elements, with brief discussions of terms and negotiations. Given the nature of this story I'm sure the BDSM implicatons won't come up often, but they are there.
> 
> And now...enjoy.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke was practically giggling with excitement as they rushed up the stairs to Anders’s apartment.

Any semblance of laughter ceased, however, as soon as the bedroom door crashed behind them, kicked shut as they crossed into it, and they were grateful to see Pounce bolt in the other direction just before it did.

She grabbed Anders by the collar to pull him into her, biting at his lower lip and not even trying to conceal the low, longing sound she made when she was backed into the wall and she could feel how painfully hard he was once he brought himself flush against her.

“Fuck,” he moaned in return, catching his breath between long, passionate kisses that almost felt like they might be rough enough to bruise. “What do you…mmm…what do you want?”

“I want…fuck, I want _you,_ Anders,” she answered quickly, her voice raspy and deep. “I want you to _consume me._ Hold me down, mark me so the whole fucking world can see that I’m yours…Maker, I want your hands around my neck until I can’t see straight, I want you to…I want you to bite me, to scratch me up, strike me…I want your hands across wherever you fucking want them, I want you…I want you to fuck me so hard I can feel you for days, _oh…”_

His teeth sank into her neck at her words, and he swiftly took both of her wrists and fluidly raised them over her head, pinning them against the wall with her arms straight up, and she involuntarily rocked her hips into his as a result.

“Is _this_ what you’re after?” He shifted her wrists into one hand and let the other trail down to grip her hair and pull her head up just slightly, and she eagerly craned her neck in response. His hand continued moving at that, lightly teasing her throat before moving back up to grip her jaw. “Is this…is _this_ what you want?”

“Oh, fuck,” she shouted, her volume evidently already beyond her control before things even really got started, and she lifted one leg up and around his when he nipped at the tip of her ear.

“I need you to tell me, Trista,” he whispered, lips still in place, and she could hear every rough breath he took, how needy he, too, had so quickly become. “If you’re being serious, if we’re genuinely thinking the same thing right now, believe me when I say I will more than happily give it to you, but I _need you to tell me_ this is what you want, and I need you to tell me if it gets to be too much, alright?”

She couldn’t help but shiver at the prospect of all that might imply, and she hastily nodded her affirmation against his hold on her. “Yes, love. Yes. Please.”

“Do you have a safeword?” She was certain her suspicion that she was about to see a side of him he had not yet shown her was confirmed by his question, to which she shook her head.

“No, love, I don’t play quite like _that,”_ she said, trying so hard to contain herself for the momentary, albeit obviously very important, discussion at hand. “If I say ‘no,’ that means no. If I say ‘stop,’ that means stop. That’s what I’m comfortable with.”

“Good,” he answered. “Perfect, that’s perfect.”

It must have been all he needed to hear, and he took a couple of steps back before releasing her arms, only to grab her by her waist the very second she let them slacken to spin her around and back her into the bed.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” he said in a firm, commanding voice she’d never have expected to hear from him, had never realised how badly she’d wanted to, as he pushed her down to fall onto the edge of the mattress, and she could swear her heart was beating out of her chest over how beautiful he looked staring at her, the way his pupils overtook his eyes and he panted desperately to the same rhythm as she.

By the time she lifted her shirt over her head his was already gone and he was kicking his pants away from his ankles, and she couldn’t stop herself from taking a moment to stare, a pause that did not go unnoticed.

“Faster,” he ordered, the heavy rise and fall of his chest visible as he stood over her, as he inched closer towards her in silent encouragement for her to speed up her movements, her hands fumbling through zippers and buttons and hooks she could not release quickly enough.

Finally, finally, they were both stripped completely, of clothing as well as inhibitions, reservations. There would apparently be no holds barred for the night and she had never been more excited for a lover’s touch, to be so taken as the implied promise of what she was then readying herself for.

Faster than light it seemed, his skin was against hers as he crossed what little space had been left between them and lifted her just slightly to move her whole body further onto the bed before he smothered her completely, his form almost flat against hers with one hand in her hair and his mouth returned to her neck, and his other hand dug nails as deep as they could go into her hip.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” she moaned, and she was sure in that moment that those were the most coherent words she could conjure, and he hummed against her flesh when her back arched into him abruptly.

He used her breasts as leverage to sit himself up, to straddle her and look down with unadulterated hunger in his eyes.

His cock was hard and heavy resting just over her clit, such closeness amplifying the throbbing she felt between them, such palpable desire coming from them both.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he told her, and she’d never heard his voice so low, so strained.

“Do you…do you know, ah,” she managed somehow, and the eye contact they made as she began to speak coursed through her, her skin growing hotter by the second. “Do you know what you fucking do to me? The things I _want_ you to do to me? Fuck, Anders, ever since the first fucking time I saw you, I…Anders, _please,_ fuck…”

“I’m sure you can do better than that, love.” He began to slowly stroke himself and his breath hitched accordingly, his eyes wide and his mouth fallen open as she watched, enthralled, as though it was the first time she’d seen him like this at all, although it was the first for quite such an extent.

“Oh Maker, fuck,” she practically whined, and she felt like she was going to combust if he didn’t touch her again. “I need you, Anders. I need you to claim me, to use me, to just fucking _ravage_ me, please. Please, fuck, I beg you, do whatever you want, just... _please_ …”

Before she knew it he had his hand wrapped tight around her throat and again her hips rolled of their own accord. He scratched down her chest with the hand that did not maintain that solid grip, which grew firmer as she twitched under his grasp, confirming how much she craved it with soft whispers of “yes” and “please,” which she continued even as she lost the ability to speak them aloud.

She tried to reach down between their legs, to take him into her hand while the world started to close in around her, while her pulse pounded in her ears, and she made a high, pleading sound when he let go.

“Please don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck,” she said hoarsely. “Please, love.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Trista, not like that,” he offered gently, breaking character for just that moment, all the while he twitched against her palm when she was finally able to stretch herself to make the contact she was seeking.

“I want you to, fuck, I want it, please,” she replied, full of profound lust, all other thought or feeling washed away by him, by this, by the way she absolutely ached for it.

“We’re going to have to set some ground rules, I think,” he smiled softly, but then his head fell back slightly and words escaped him when she closed her hand in around him harder. “Oh fuck, okay, we’ll talk about that later, Maker…”

He practically lunged back over her, once more pulling up her arms and pinning down her wrists.

“Right now,” he continued, “I’m still going to play it safe but…right now, I…I _need_ to feel you tight around me, to feel the way you fucking _writhe_ under me when I fill you up. I need to hear the way you _scream_ my name when I make you come, to watch the way your eyes _plead_ when you’re so eager for it. That’s what I need, Trista. Can you give that to me?”

“Fuck, Maker, yes, please…”

He let go of her and moved off just for a moment, the heat from their skin still radiating, and when he spread her legs apart he wasted no time in guiding himself in, and his entrance was met with a thankful yelp.

He held onto her thighs and pulled her legs to meet his shoulders and sat up higher to partially lift her from the bed, bringing himself to his knees before leaning forward, to bend her body further in than she’d even known it could go, to plunge himself more thoroughly inside her than she’d thought was possible, and the sensation took her, overwhelmed her beyond words. She felt like electricity coursed through her with each harsh snap of his hips, each aggressive thrust that burned in deeper and deeper, and then euphoria struck her hard and her hands balled into fists with which she punched the bed without meaning to when she first came.

“Maker, look at you,” he exclaimed heavily, between harsh, rapid breaths. “So perfect, the way you take it, fuck…”

She whimpered when he pulled out, but he kept his hold on her, pulling her by her legs back to the edge of the bed, dropping them when he slowly slid off it it. He stopped for a moment when he stood up, he looked as though he could never get enough of the sight before him. A thin layer of sweat covered them both and she couldn’t control her breathing, her mouth agape in wonder at the effect he had on her, at the apparent effect she had on him, her eyes large and alight when she stared back at him, the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid them on in all her life.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said out loud, mimicking her thoughts of him, before his lips curled into a devious smirk. “And you’re fucking _mine.”_

He bent over to pick up her arm, biting down hard into the wrist until she nearly jumped up from her spot. He let it go only to take a random spot above her pelvis in the same manner, and then he fell to his knees to run his tongue along her clit, just a tease before he gripped the tops of her thighs from the floor to pull himself back up.

“Anders,” she exhaled shakily once he did, needing to get him back inside her, needing to feel him against her again. “Anders, please, I need you, fuck…”

He grabbed her and flipped her over the bed quicker than she could blink, and his hand burned when it made contact with her ass, and she could feel the way it rippled, and she shouted when he hit her again, and then again on the other side.

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” His voice bellowed, surged through the air, into her, and all she could do for a moment was nod, almost forgetting how important verbal responses were in such a situation.

“Yes, Anders, yes,” she yelled once she found herself able to do so through the way her heart raced, the way her breath faltered, the way her whole body had started to shake. 

He lifted her hips once again and she knew what was coming, and she braced herself for him to thrust himself back inside, still unable to hold back her shout when he did. Her fingers dug into the sheets, and she was terribly grateful for his hands supporting her, for she genuinely did not believe she could any longer have held herself up on her own. The rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh made the sting of where he’d struck her feel like somehow so much more every time he rammed himself into her, hitting those spots just right over and over again.

She could feel every muscle in her body clenching and her legs were trembling, and she heard Anders’s voice in a drawn out moan. “Are you going to come for me?”

She could not answer him in words, only from the cry that was torn from her throat when she heeded the call, and suddenly there was a fist in her hair and her head was shoved down into the bed, and then she was again left empty and aching when he stepped back, allowing her to collapse into a heap.

“I hope you don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he almost laughed, something so dark to it, and she eagerly moaned back in response.

He turned her back over to face him, and she bit back a gasp at the stare he offered. It was one of pure, insatiable lust, of desire, of desperation untamed, and she wanted all of it, she needed all of it.

“Fuck, no, don’t stop, _never_ stop, love, please never stop,” she whispered. “More, please, please, please…”

She was whining so intensely but she could not possibly have brought herself to care, her only concern feeling him tear her apart for as long as they could go, to finally feel the intensity of coming together whenever his stamina wore down, to hold him close and keep him there until morning.

“You sure you haven’t had enough yet?” He teased his hands along with his words, running them over her thighs and up over her hips, past her waist, and then cupping her breasts quickly before simultaneously pinching both nipples. She gasped outright, no shame to it at all, meeting his fingers more closely with a twitch.

He grabbed her legs again, that time allowing her back to stay resting flat where she lay, but he thrust his cock into her while he stretched them so far over her that it obstructed her view of him doing so, and for as much as she longed to see his eyes on her again more clearly, the new angle did wonders she could not deny, and it briefly became a moot point when she cried out and her eyes rolled back so hard she wasn’t sure she had even actually been able to keep them open.

They stayed like that for a bit, until she was too shaky to hold up quite like that, then he moved away again then, and a part of her was pleased that her legs fell so she could look at him once more, that same stare, the hunger in his eyes that had not wavered for a second once they’d realised exactly what they’d both so badly needed from each other, once they had decided that this was where the night was heading, knowing that it was the two of them and they were the only things that mattered in that moment, that there was no way anything else either of them had ever done could possibly compare to what was unfolding before them then.

He remained standing in front of the bed when he reached for her knees, fortunately not taking much time in between in that instance, lifting them and holding her in place, only letting one hand slide down to palm his cock, pulling her in and then hitting her g-spot with full force once he moved forward and she wrapped her legs around his waist and he quickly let his hands slip back down to keep her exactly how he wanted her.

She was shouting, so hard, so high, so much so that for a split second she almost let the thought creep in of worrying if she’d have anything of a voice left for work the next day, but that fell away in an instant when she clenched around him again, screaming louder still, which happened again almost immediately when he guided her back down flat onto the bed, keeping himself inside her until the very last second before he prompted her to move back up to where her head could reach the pillows, wasting no time before entering her again, which prompted another desperate shriek.

That was when he reached back for her wrists, the one still sore from where he’d bitten, and pinned them over her head, forcing them down hard into the mattress, just as he did with her hips as he snapped his own back and forth faster, harder, and the trembling in her legs became almost painful with her ankles crossed against his back, and the rest of her began to move in time, to shake so uncontrollably, to scream so unrelentingly. The whole world disappeared around them, nothing left but sensation, the scent of sex and sweat, the sensitivity of overstimulation, the way his cries joined hers, conducting a symphony for everything they were in that moment.

“Fuck, I’m close, oh fuck…” He panted, his lips just beside her ear, nipping at it, at her neck, kissing each spot where his teeth had grazed. “Fuck, come with me, come with me…”

They had become a raging clash of hands and teeth, she could no longer place where and when he moved, shivering beneath his touch, wherever it landed. His pace quickened, his fingers ran along her throat and for a moment she held her breath, only releasing it again to let go of the nigh inhuman scream that came out with it, under which she could barely hear how loud even he was when he came alongside, together, just as they both had hoped for.

They both seemed to lose their bearings, the will to hold their limbs, their bodies, collapsing limply, entangled with each other, both of them fighting to catch their breath.

“Oh,” she tried after an indistinguishable amount of time. “Oh that was...that was even better than I could’ve hoped for.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Maker, I...I love you so much. You’re fucking amazing, do you know that?”

“You,” she sighed dreamily and attempted to move herself, to separate just enough that they could get closer again, to have him hold her so tight and quite possibly even comfortably find sleep after such a beautifully exhausting evening. “You are.”

The haze of the afterglow was clearly strong over them both, and it took what felt like forever to finally find their own bodies, to finally figure out whose was whose and shift themselves accordingly until he had his arms wrapped around her from behind, kissing trails along her neck, only then far more gently. She turned her head back towards him as best as she was able, barely aware of herself in the most gorgeous way she’d ever known that feeling to be, finding his lips with hers, kissing him softly, hardly able to stop smiling long enough to follow through.

“I love you,” she managed through her daze, her eyes already closing on her, her mind drifting off in welcome bliss, in peaceful reverie.

“I love you,” he echoed in a mumble, the feeling finding him exactly as it did her, and it wasn’t long before sleep, so often so elusive, how amazingly it caught up with them so easily that time.


	46. To Burn, to Breathe, to Scream, to Feel, to Feel, to Feel, to Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: honestly, kind of everything; the most prominent stand-outs here are dysfunctional family/emotional abuse leading to an extremely volatile confrontation, as well as references to substance abuse, suicide attempt, and character death but...basically, if you've followed me this far and it's been CW'd in _any_ previous chapter, it probably comes up in at least some capacity in this one
> 
> ["Protège-Moi" by Placebo](https://youtu.be/78gnqecSEw8)   
>  ["Transmission" by Joy Division](https://youtu.be/6dBt3mJtgJc)

Just as Hawke had feared, Saturday reared its head at them far sooner than she was prepared for it to.

She did feel guilty over how much it worried her, almost felt as if she had no real right to think anything of it by that point, after the debacle that had started to unfold over Anders’s offer to Merrill’s mother figure. She was still going to try to convince her to come to him for aid, but the conversation that had happened had been far from ideal. Something about “shemlen” doctors, wherein afterwards they were told that the insult used simply meant “outsider” in the Dalish language, and an apparent disbelief that he could possibly be genuine in his desire to help. No one could truly say they blamed her for her apprehension, for all outsider prejudice had done in regards to the erasure of the Dalish culture, but Merrill was, also understandably, not taking that hurdle particularly well.

However, even still, neither was Hawke taking her own situation in much stride, her nerves shot all to the Void at the prospect of facing her mother after so much time, after so much that had happened to lead them to that very scenario.

_“C’est le malaise du moment, l’épidémie qui s’étend; la fête est finie, on descend les pensées qui glacent la raison. Paupières baissées, visages gris, surgissent les fantômes de notre lit. On ouvre le loquet de la grille, du taudis qu'on appelle maison…”_

No sound was made aside from the music and the regular crackling emitted from Anders’s car’s speakers. She felt numb, distant, and any attempt he’d made at trying to talk to her before they started on their way to her mother’s had fallen flat. She was grateful that he at least respected her enough not to push further than she could handle, for as immensely vexed with herself as she was for what she could not handle seeming to be best defined as “literally anything” as they drove to Hightown. She thought of bringing up their best cover stories, despite how many times they’d gone over it since the moment she’d gotten out of work on Thursday, but she could not yet force herself to form words, so she only begged herself to find confidence she wasn’t sure she had.

_“Protect me from what I want…”_

She had, at least, made sure to text her brother before they left Anders’s apartment, to confirm her mother would even be there. He texted back fairly quickly, a short, ineloquent affirmative laden with typoes and the reminder that he’d just done an overnight and didn’t want to be woken unless she absolutely needed him, so it helped somewhat to know she really was about to get this over with, that the drive and all the anxiety that rode with them served some sort of purpose.

_“Sommes-nous les jouets du destin? Souviens-toi des moments divins, planant, éclatés au matin, et maintenant nous sommes tous seuls. Perdus les rêves de s'aimer, le temps où on n’avait rien fait, il nous reste toute une vie pour pleurer. Et maintenant nous sommes tous seuls…”_

She couldn’t help but wish she’d been able to get high beforehand, couldn’t help but long to be too strung out to even know where she was, to make herself numb, to make it easier. She knew logically that it would probably only have made the situation worse had she done so, but she also knew it wasn’t as though she’d never addressed her mother under the influence before, had never feigned coherence through the blur she’d later barely recall to the extent that she was certain she’d actually fooled her. It was a nice thought, for as much as it shouldn’t have been, but it was one that was pointless to focus on. It was too late to do any such thing, too conspicuous to try, too hurtful to anyone who might find out if she did. It did not stop her from her longing, from her wistful desperation to disappear into such oblivion, however, so she gripped Anders’s hand and held onto reality as best she could through his touch.

_“Protège-moi, protège-moi. Protège-moi de mes désirs…”_

It took her a second to realise they’d parked, that they were sitting in her mother’s driveway, Anders still holding on tight, only having moved to look at her, silently pleading with her to respond in some manner, to bring herself back to him, to then and there. He was worried, she could see it so clearly in his eyes, but whether it was simply an echo of her own fears or more for her and her state, for her well-being, she could not even try to decipher.

_“Protect me from what I want, protect me, protect me…”_

Sound cut off when he let go and opened his door, and wordlessly she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door after him, quietly exiting the car and then nervously just standing beside it, beside him, watching the door to the estate as though waiting for it to make the first move.

“Love,” Anders said finally, after an indeterminate passage of time, so delicately, so affectionately. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her thoughts exactly, of course, except that it was difficult to find her footing, to will her legs to carry her there. A second later, however, they were at the door, which she had already unlocked, with no memory of ascending through the lawn or taking out her keys.

She wondered momentarily that if she was that disjointed without drugs, then it perhaps it really was for the best she didn’t have them, all the while the thought that they’d at least serve as an excuse for that frame of mind intruded in on her attempt at calming herself, that they still would have made her feel more at ease.

“Who’s there?” Her mother’s voice called from what she assumed to be the main room of the house, and she involuntarily held her breath when she crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her.

Hand in hand, a move she did not remember either of them making, they walked through the entryway and into the absurdly large room before them, where they silently greeted the woman who rose from the couch to meet them.

“Hello,” she managed in her exhale, coming out as barely more than a whisper, hollow and raspy.

“Oh, it’s you,” her mother responded, surprise in her voice but otherwise unreadable. It did not take her long to turn to Anders, though, to put on her best polite smile and extend her hand with a faux-chipper, “Oh hello there, I’m Leandra. And you’re a friend of Trista’s?”

He looked to her with wide eyes, and for as much as she wished he would open the conversation for her, she knew he wouldn’t speak out of turn, wouldn’t speak for her, especially in a situation so precarious as this one.

“Mother, this is Anders,” she forced out, nearly choked back by her rising sense of panic. “We’re together.”

It sounded like such a childish way to phrase it somehow as soon as she said it, but she couldn’t place why, assumed she’d have interpreted anything she might have said the same way.

“Oh.” More surprise, then, but her mother still did not show anything else, did not give her any idea what was going on behind that ridiculous “we have company” kind of smile. “Oh, that’s lovely. Would you like to have a seat?”

“Yes, thank you,” Anders did answer first that time, his own façade of civility mirroring her mother’s. She could see through him still, could sense the tension, the heavy discomfort he was so clearly trying to conceal for everyone’s sake, but she knew it was there, felt it course through them both.

Her mother resumed her seat on the couch and Hawke and Anders moved to the adjacent loveseat, the existence of both fitting so comfortably in one room, with the additional couple of chairs still unoccupied around them, an obvious sign of showing off just how much space there was within it.

“It’s been…a while,” her mother started, and she saw her mask begin to slip. She knew it couldn’t last and a part of her even knew she didn’t want it to, did not actually wish to continue their disguises and avoid all semblance of sincerity, knew that wouldn’t be of any help, that it would make the mess they were in entirely worthless when all was said and done there.

“I know,” Hawke sighed, already feeling unreasonably defeated, as though the battle had already been won, even though it hadn’t yet begun, even though it could yet pass that one wouldn’t start. “I suppose it’s time we talk, then.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” her mother agreed. “Shall we take this upstairs, so that we may speak _privately?”_

Her emphasis on the last word was laced with a strange bitterness Hawke did not believe she’d earned, wanted to protect as her own, for she was the one who deserved to hold onto such repulsion for the tension around them. She did not look at Anders, trying to maintain the final specks of the false face that had all but dissolved already, only glaring at Hawke as she so well knew her to do.

“No,” she asserted, determined not to play games, determined not to lose what games would in all likelihood be presented regardless. “This is fine.”

“Oh.” Hesitation, reluctance, obvious unhappiness, but acquiescence without argument all the same. She’d take what she could get, and the thought was evidently mutual. “Well, alright.”

Stalemate. The three of them sat, glanced back and forth between each other, between themselves, quietly disquiet, heaviness clouding the air and refusing to dissipate. The stillness was only broken when Hawke stood up and walked the short distance to the coffee table to pick up the blatantly well-used large glass ashtray that probably intentionally looked far more expensive than it was, and then set it down on the end table beside her before making for her purse, carefully watching the way her mother’s eyes crinkled in disapproval when she lit a cigarette.

“I see you’ve started letting Carver smoke inside the house,” she noted with minimal scathing in her tone, much to her own surprise.

“Yes, well,” her mother began with an awkwardness Hawke had not realised she could hold. “Your brother works so hard, it only seemed fair. I may not agree with what he does, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to support him in any way I can.”

“Well,” she replied harshly, taking a long and decidedly hostile drag, or so that was how she elected to imagine it, which was then purposefully exhaled precisely in her mother’s direction. “I’m glad you’re capable of caring so much for at least one of your children.”

Anders’s eyes shifted uncomfortably, and her mother only cleared her throat, not yet about to openly engage.

“Your hair’s starting to get long,” she deflected effortlessly in her distracting need to feign decorum no matter what. Hawke involuntarily brushed a strand behind her ear at the mention but did not verbally reply. That much was true, at least; she usually kept it short in a disheveled, uneven mess the result of hacking it off with the nearest pair of scissors, often sans mirror, simply whenever the mood struck. The last time it had done was a few days before Bethany died and shit hit the fan as it did, and she really hadn’t given it any thought since.

“So,” her mother continued, her painful smile returned to her face. “How did you two meet?”

Hawke took a deep breath before she answered. They’d prepared for this, and she had no qualms about lying to her mother, had practically made it into an art form in her youth, so she could not explain why it felt so wrong to her then. “We met at karaoke night. He has phenomenal taste in music. And a beautiful voice.”

She barely recognised what she said as she said it, but she was able to sound so light, so casual about it, a lie for a lie. She tried to mimic her mother’s despicably shit-eating grin, a poor effort that only increased the depths of her sadness, amplified her helplessness.

“Thanks, love,” Anders offered with an odd small laugh, obviously trying so hard not to let the tone of the room get to him.

Filter against lips, held tight to breathe in. To inhale, exhale, hold it in, hold back.

Silence and small talk to take away from the reality at hand, and she knew it couldn’t last, they must have all known it couldn’t last. Such awareness did not keep her mother from trying, of course, just as it did not help in the way Anders desperately attempted to restrain his blatant panic, so very obvious in how much more on-edge he was than he had expected, although it was most likely only so to one other of the present party, or at least she hoped for his sake.

“Oh that’s lovely,” her mother continued. “My Malcolm was the same way. I’m sure Trista’s told you about him already, yes?”

“Of course,” he nodded, otherwise entirely motionless except for his fingers running back and forth in place along the cushions, leaving temporary lines across his reach in their wake.

“It’s such a shame they never met, really,” she added, doing her part for as long as she could, doing it for him yet enunciating each syllable to the countdown they became, to the time bomb that was these tenuous formalities. “They have a lot in common; Carver’s seen it, too.”

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. They hung on by a thread, thinner every moment, and she braced for impact against the incoming atomic catastrophe, playing the part of the centre of the blast radius herself.

“So,” her mother went on, dramatically fanning away smoke that did not even actually reach, in spite of her best efforts. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

“It’s been right around five months,” she answered quickly, another item on their prior list of important topics they would need to cover, wherein they’d decided they would just count all that had transpired between them, not even as a story but for themselves, to stand as their own truth.

“Oh, well, that didn’t take long, did it?”

Boom.

“No, it didn’t,” she replied through gritted teeth, holding so tight it was almost immediately that the ache in her jaw rose to her temples, rose promptly to pound briefly against the whole of her head until she unclenched it, only to take in another long drag from her cigarette, to breathe in the sweet stench of smoke her mother hated so. It was then gone, so of course she lit another at the exact same moment she crushed the previous filter against her brother’s ashtray, at the exact same moment the barriers exploded and everything came pouring out. “I suppose I’m meant to feel guilty about _that,_ too, right. That even after my whole fucking world fell apart once again, even after you’ve had me so well trained you never _had_ to tell me to my face that it had to be my fault but you went ahead and did it anyway, that I have been through things you cannot even fucking _imagine_ since I last saw you…I suppose you’re right, though. No penance is great enough, nothing can make up for my failings. Bethany’s fucking dead but that’s not punishment enough. It’s not enough that I tried to fucking _drown myself_ in booze and drugs and sex and blood after she left. It’s not enough that I’m not even the only one responsible for how badly I’ve been hurt in the past few months. It’s not enough that I have to live with the consequences because I had to fucking _live,_ because I never fucking made it out to see her and Father again if that’s even a real thing. _It’s not fucking enough_ because I made friends, I fell in love, I found redemption I never earned and Bethany never got that chance. You don’t have to say it. I know you want to say it, I know _exactly_ what you’re thinking, Mother, I know that face. _‘Where were you when she needed you,’_ right? Those words are burned into me like a fucking brand because you just _had_ to fucking say it, you just had to fucking act like I didn’t _already_ have that going in a damn loop inside my head, like I didn’t already _know,_ like I fucking…fucking…fuck…”

She was seething, taking a moment to notice when Anders and her mother both spoke her name in unison, but when she did she heard them loud and clear. His tone was soothing, careful, an attempt to calm her. Hers was shrill as ever, judgmental, unable to handle the scene finally unfolding the only way it was ever truly going to.

“No. No, Mother. Shut the fuck up.” Hawke stood up and stared her mother in the eyes, a confrontation roughly 27 years in the making. “You want guilt? That’s what you fucking thrive on, so let me take a page from _your_ book, how does that sound? Do you even fucking remember the way I shut myself in my room for days after Father died? How I didn’t sleep or eat or speak? Did you even _notice?_ Yes, I know it was hard on everyone, but you don’t just get to stop even fucking _trying_ to be a mother in your own grief, you know. At least you and Carver have your brains all in one piece, so you know who Bethany came to when it got to be too much for her? She came to me. After Father’s funeral it was _my room_ she hid out in, _my bed_ she slept in, _literally my shoulder_ she cried on. She put on a brave face for you, sure, because she fucking knew _I_ was the one who’d understand. She came to me far more than she ever even tried to go to you, so if anything you can fucking thank me she made it as long as she did. You want your fucking guilt, you can eat it yourself. You put all of it on us and it ate away at Bethany until it fucking killed her and I will _not_ let you do the same thing to me. I thought I survived my own hand because _I_ was the one who didn’t deserve to get that break, but maybe it wasn’t for me. Maybe I got stuck here for _you,_ so you could see what you’ve done, so you can fucking reap every last piece of the Void you have ever sown for your daughters. Maybe it’s you who deserved to lose Bethany, it’s fucking _you_ who deserves to keep _me.”_

She’d dropped her unfinished cigarette at some point during the course of her shouting, and she might have laughed at the burn mark in the carpet if she could properly breathe. Alas, the room swam in her state of hyperventilation, but even she could clearly see that Anders had checked out completely. She saw the way his wide eyes glazed and his stare had become hollow, and if she hadn’t wanted to unleash like that for longer than she could remember, the abhorrent ache in her chest of putting him in that position would have torn through her right then and there. That would come later, even in her overwhelmingly disrupted mindset she already knew, but for the time all she had was rage and the struggle for air.

Unsurprisingly, all her mother had to offer in response was pursed lips and a terse, “Calm down before you wake your brother.”

“Too late,” Carver noted from the entryway to the dining room, looking exhausted leaning against the frame wearing only thin, ratty pajama pants.

“Oh dear, how long have you been standing there?” Their mother’s concern took its natural course, but at least that left them the silver lining that she did not even appear to notice how Anders had shut down, at least until Carver spoke again.

“Long enough,” he initially replied before noticing the other man’s state himself. “Hey, Anders.”

That led Anders to start slightly, and then to wave meekly in Carver’s direction with a forced closed-mouth smile and a short nod.

“Oh hey, you know, since you’re here I’ve got something to show you,” Carver remarked still in Anders’s direction, causing him to slowly come back to himself, an obvious lead-in to the surfacing of Hawke’s guilt over its necessity.

“Thanks, but—”

“No, you should go with him,” she interrupted as fast as her mind could cut itself in. “Go, bond.”

“If you’re sure,” he hesitated, his eyes glancing back and forth between the Hawke siblings, their usual light almost returned.

“Come on,” Carver said as he straightened his stance and gestured for Anders to follow.

He looked back at her momentarily and she could only silently mouth “I’m sorry” while he did, until he finally moved to go wherever Carver was leading him.

Just the two of them then, Hawke sat back down and lit another cigarette while she made eye contact with her mother once more, desperately pleading with herself not to break her resolve, shocked at how terribly she’d held it thus far even through all the distress it had caused.

“What do you want me to say, Trista?” Her mother sighed. “That I’m sorry? I am. I am sorrier than you could ever possibly believe, and I know _that’s_ my fault, too.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She replaced anger with snark, and the mirthless laugh which punctuated her question, her utter disbelief.

“For the love of Andraste, Trista, you heard me.” She met her eyes, contemplative in her gaze, a reaction Hawke never expected could be possible. “I’m sorry. I’ve made mistakes, and plenty of them, I know. I haven’t always been the best mother but Maker knows how hard I’ve tried. I _am_ only human, you know.”

“How hard have you, though, really?” A sharp drag, a long inhale, a small cloud forming at the release, giving back the gift of breath in its dissolution. “‘Only human’ only carries you so far, Mother. It’s not like you’d ever let _me_ skate by on that.”

“I’ve been so hard on you, don’t think I don’t know that.” She folded her hands in her lap, maintaining her composure in the pause that followed, while Hawke resisted the urge to laugh right in her face. She concentrated on her cigarette instead, used it as a tether, searched it for strength she did not have on her own. “Don’t look at me like that, Trista. I’m trying to have an adult conversation, alright? I suppose I’ve never really done that with you before.”

“Well, why not?” She took a moment, her thoughts raced, she wasn’t sure where to go next, never thought she’d make it this far. “Why is it that my own mother has never been able to make me feel like a person? Why is it that even in what’s supposed to be the ‘comfort’ of my own home I’ve still always felt like some sort of _thing,_ just like the fucking Chantry would see me, when you’ve allegedly always wanted to protect me from exactly that?”

“I never wanted you to have the life you have, Trista, you have to believe that,” she said wistfully, and it felt like she had her own long-held confessions to let go of. “I knew when I married your father that I was putting our children at risk of inheriting the worst of what we had to offer. It runs on my side, too, you know. Not as heavily, and I know I got lucky, but there are Amells in Ferelden, too, or at least there were. My cousin, Revka, I don’t know where she is now. She had two children there, though, Solona and Daylen, and as far as I’m aware they’re still stuck behind Circle walls.”

“Mother, I—”

“I know. I know, dear.” The room calmed, the desolate atmosphere lifted, the dissonance quieted. “We knew what kind of chance we were taking but it didn’t make us any more prepared for it when it came to fruition. We both wanted a family and we both knew it was virtually impossible to hope to avoid the inevitable outcome of that, but I suppose we hoped we could do better for you. For you _and_ for Bethany. We thought we could take what we both had in our own experiences and apply them to our parenting. Clearly that did not go as we planned. Nothing ever really does, though, does it? You’re never _really_ ready to be a parent, Trista, no matter what you tell yourself. For us it came with even more challenges than most. We failed you. _I_ failed you. And I projected as much of that as I could onto you simply because you were there. You’ve never deserved that.”

Another end crushed into the ashtray, another light to take its place. She could breathe, at least, she could see, she could feel.

“Mother,” she said after what felt like an eternity, her voice small and gravelly. “Why the…why this? Is this some sudden epiphany or…?”

“It was so easy, you know,” her mother said softly, her eyes wavering. “It was too easy to put the fault on you for Bethany. You were home and I wasn’t, and that made it so simple. I know that’s awful of me, I know. I was so lost, so angry, and I had to direct it at something, and it should never have felt so natural to make that something you. I carried that resentment, I carried it with me all that time. Maker, I needed it. It brought me peace. I don’t know if I’ll ever come to terms with what kind of mother that makes me, what kind of _person_ that makes me. That’s on me, Trista. _That_ is not on you for one moment. But then when Carver told me—”

“You were furious,” Hawke countered bitterly, her difficulty knowing how to deal with what was happening making itself known. “He told me, Mother, he told me how angry you were.”

“I was, yes,” she admitted. “That same terrible part of me latched onto that anger, and that’s when I had to realise who I was _really_ so upset with. I was so afraid, I was so afraid of what that could mean, to lose another one of my children like that. Especially you, Trista, because I knew…I _knew_ that if you’d succeeded, you’d have died thinking I really did blame you. I begged Aveline, I _begged_ her to put me through to you but then she kept telling me she’d hardly seen you and I didn’t know what that meant and that scared me so…I suppose I _do_ know now, though, don’t I?”

She gestured towards the upstairs, clearly meant to indicate Anders, and Hawke nodded. Her mother reached for an end table for a tissue, emotion getting the best of her, Hawke floored by the scene.

“You’re right,” she pressed on with a sniffle Hawke could not seem to wrap her head around. “I didn’t know anything about how you’d been there for Bethany. I should have. There’s no reason I wouldn’t have seen, or at least suspected. I know you’ve always believed I put all my hopes into Carver and perhaps you’re right about _that,_ too. I have no excuse, Trista. None. I know it isn’t going to be okay, that it’s never going to be ‘normal,’ but…if you and Carver can start again, can we?”

“I…I’d like to think so,” Hawke answered quietly, so raw, so drained. “I need…I need time, though. I need time. I’m still working on time with him, even, but _this_ …I need time.”

She thought that she might cut out her own tongue if she repeated herself one more time. It was so strange, so surreal, every bit as much extra pressure as it was relief.

“I know, dear,” her mother nodded. “Of course. Will you two come for Satinalia dinner, at least? You’re more than welcome if you haven’t already made other plans…”

“No,” she replied without even having to think. That was too much too soon, at that rate probably as much for Anders as it would have been for herself. “No, maybe we could stop by for a little bit, and that’s a _big_ fucking maybe, but we won’t be staying for dinner. Not yet. Need time.”

Fortunately there were no sharp objects as far as the eye could see. She’d put her cigarette out without even noticing, so with both hands free she held onto her hanging head.

“I understand. Take all the time you need.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my mother?” She laughed half-heartedly, as yet unable to hide the negativity which still lingered behind it.

“Carver,” their mother called towards the hallway and the flight of stairs it held, apparently going to back to ignoring the awkwardness. “It’s safe to come down now.”

Hawke put her cigarettes away and took a deep breath. She owed Anders a thousand apologies she could never quite convey, but she was grateful to see both he and her brother smiling when they returned, the way Carver took him into a genuine embrace before he quickly ran back upstairs, presumably back to bed.

“Nice to see you, too,” Hawke called after him once he did without acknowledging her, and then she swiftly turned to Anders. “Are you alright, love?”

“I am sorry this was your first experience in my home, Anders,” her mother interjected. “But I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that the Hawkes are a stubborn bunch, and if you’re going to be sticking around, then…well. It doesn’t usually get quite that bad, though, I promise. I imagine your _next_ experience should go much smoother.”

She extended her hand in parting, and when he took it the exchange was rough, brief and forced, silent and uncomfortable, but she hoped that for once her mother might understand in context.

Anders stepped back, leaving Hawke and her mother just to look at each other for a long moment, neither of them sure what they were supposed to do. It seemed they decided at once, breaking eyes simply to nod politely.

“I’ll see you some other time, then?”

“Yeah, see you.”

Hawke and Anders stepped back through the hall and out the door, brains abuzz as they walked back to the car, buckled in, turned the key, welcomed by the next track from whatever mix CD was in there that day.

Anders let out a heavy sigh once he cut the wheel to turn, to make their way home, inadvertently cutting her off just as she was about to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” he let out, almost mournful, hardly turning his eyes to look at her when she took his hand.

_“Listen to the silence, let it ring on eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun…”_

“What the fuck, Anders, no…I’m so sorry, _I’m_ the one who lost control, I never should have had you come here like this…”

_“We would have a fine time living in the night, left to blind destruction, waiting for our sight…”_

“I did offer,” he reminded, as much to try to reassure himself as her. “I’m sorry I shut down like that, I just didn’t know what to—”

“I’d most likely have done the same thing, love,” she offered, hoping to grant him some comfort in her honesty, her understanding, compassion through quasi-hypothetical solidarity. “I’d never blown up at her like that before and it was a long time coming so I really should have known—”

“Love, it’s alright, I understand. Okay, actually, I don’t but…I understand you, and if you needed to get that out of your system…did it help at all?”

_“We would go on as though nothing was wrong, hide from these days we remained all alone…”_

“Weirdly enough,” she nearly chuckled. “I think it kind of did. She actually talked to me, I mean really _talked_ to me, for probably the first time ever, honestly.”

“Wow, that does sound…I’m glad it worked out, love.” He wasn’t quite okay, that much was apparent despite his efforts, and that ache in her chest she’d feared earlier was starting to make its way back to the surface.

_“Touching from a distance, further all the time…”_

“So,” she tried, searching for light through the lingering fog, “did Carver actually have something to show you or was he genuinely just trying to be helpful for once in his life?”

“Umm, _yes,”_ Anders replied, a small smile making an appearance, one that even looked sincere at that. “You know, I think he approves of me.”

Hawke smiled warmly, moreso than she’d care to admit, at the prospect of bringing Anders into her family, for as dysfunctional and broken as it was. She knew he’d probably appreciate being welcomed in on principle, no matter how disastrous putting the surviving Hawkes in one room could be. A part of her knew, as well, had known the whole time that she still wasn’t ready to lose those left of the family that raised her, that she still loved them and missed them no matter how much she didn’t want to. For as much as she adored the family she’d found, there was still a little girl brought up with small town Fereldan “values” hiding in there somewhere who just wanted to know she could still go back to the one she knew first, just that she still had that option. Varric argued her about it and Varric was right, but somehow she couldn’t seem to do anything about that in practice.

“Well?” She asked, catching herself from her thoughts. “What was it?”

“Your father’s record collection,” he answered affectionately. “Or what’s left of it, as he mentioned. He told me how you grabbed everything you could of it leaving Lothering. Said I should take a look, get an idea of what he was talking about the other night.”

“Yeah,” Hawke nodded, “I think he approves of you.”

_“Well, I could call out when the going gets tough, the things that we’ve learnt are no longer enough…”_

She picked up her phone from her purse, glancing at it to check the time since the clock on Anders’s car radio never seemed to keep it. It was still fairly early, far less time had passed than she’d felt like, and he must have noticed what she was doing, perhaps even realised the same.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked, pausing to look directly at her when he pulled up to a red light.

_“No language, just sound, that’s all we need to know to synchronise love to the beat of the show…”_

“Wanna just go home? Do absolutely nothing for at least a little bit?”

They could talk further later, for as much as there really even was left to talk about. All she wanted then was to hold him close, to attach herself to him and never let go, to entangle their arms under a blanket whether it was the bed or the couch. Just so long as it was with him, at the home that felt more and more like her own every day, and they could take some time to breathe after the mess they’d just walked out of.

“Yeah. That sounds perfect, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a lot harder to write than I expected. Certainly not nearly as much so as some previous chapters, but way more than I'd estimated it could be. Probably because, as I've mentioned already, my mother is unnervingly similar to Leandra and she hasn't exactly been doing well health-wise and that's eventually going to leave me with a lot to process, which likely has a lot to do with why a reconciliation of sorts was bound to happen.
> 
> I do, actually, _vehemently_ disagree with the concept of loving the family you were raised with just because they're your "family," and I _strongly_ believe that family is a privilege and not a right, and that no amount of blood or legal relation should _ever_ bind you to someone toxic, and this is a belief I _have_ put into practice with literally every single member of my biologicals save for my mother, even though she and I have had confrontations _very_ similar to this one in real life.
> 
> That being said, I felt it absolutely in-character for Hawke as they're portrayed in-game to not be able to sever such a connection and so I wrote this Hawke that way also in large part for that reason. Still, I am always and forever hella Leandra-critical, but their intensely problematic relationship does resonate very heavily with me in an often very difficult way, so here we have it.
> 
> Feel free to poke at me on Tumblr, too, where I can be found at [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also! Placebo lyric translation, at least according to Google:
> 
> "It is the uneasiness of the moment, the epidemic that spreads. The feast is finished, one descends. The thoughts that freeze the reason, fallen lids, grey face. Emerge the ghosts of our bed, one opens the latch of the grid of the hole that one calls home..."
> 
> "Are we the puppets of destiny? Remember the divine moments hovering, exploded into the morning, and now we are all alone. Lost the dreams to like themselves, the time where one had anything makes, we have a whole life to cry and now we are all alone..."


	47. Detachment in Descent, Descent in Attachment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: terminal illness with notes of related dementia and psychosis, various references to death including allusions to suicide, dysfunctional families, harmful levels of self-sacrifice, as well as an argument that goes right from zero to explosive...tensions are just really high for everyone in general
> 
> This is honestly just straight angst. I'm so sorry. Please don't hurt me.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Two weeks from the aftermath of her mother’s and Hawke was finally starting to settle into it somewhat.

She was fairly certain she was almost done holiday shopping, and she’d finally remembered to ask Merrill about how to proceed with her in such context. Merrill’s response had been an aggressive hug and many thanks over such consideration.

“After all that’s been done to my people in the name of Andrastianism,” she’d exclaimed, “the fact that you would even _ask_ …oh Hawke, that’s so lovely of you, thank you!”

It had made her smile, too, a wonderfully warm bonding moment between the two of them.

Of course, that was just before Marethari finally found it in her during a then-fleeting moment of clarity to accept Anders’s help, at which point Merrill had pretty much set up shop in the clinic, not even leaving to sleep. It was putting a terrible strain on Isabela, who was keeping her distance since Marethari apparently would not approve of their relationship, but she had stated outright that she wasn’t going to say anything to Merrill about it, admitted fully that she could only imagine the toll it was taking on her. Especially when they took into account that a lumbar puncture revealed the cause of her illness, that what Merrill had said those back home tried to blame on stress was actually an extraordinarily rare and invariably fatal sporadic protein mutation, which meant she had extremely limited time left and that there was nothing Anders could do besides try to keep her comfortable.

Marethari had been in the clinic for a week. Merrill hadn’t spoken a single word in four days.

Two weeks out from her mother’s and Hawke was finally starting to settle into that much, all the while her surroundings never knew when to quit, when to let the tide pull back and keep it from consuming them.

“How is she?” Hawke asked that Sunday night once Anders kicked off his boots upon returning to the apartment from downstairs.

“I’ve got her loaded up on benzos but…Maker,” he sighed as he joined her on the couch. “She doesn’t even know where she is.”

“I actually meant Merrill,” she responded and picked up one of two steaming mugs that she had on the coffee table and handed it to him. “I suppose _that’s_ probably an answer to that question in itself, though, isn’t it? That’s hot chocolate, by the way. I texted Merrill to see if she wanted me to bring her one down, too, but…”

She, too, sighed in place of further words, and it more than served as an appropriate expression. Anders nodded back at her and gratefully accepted her offer, holding it in both hands and looking at it intently.

“I’m trying not to push her, I know how easily that could do more harm than good, but I’m really worried about her,” Anders acknowledged sullenly. “I just hate that there’s no way I can make this better for her. For either of them.”

“Remind me to punch that one fucker right in his stupid face if he ever shows up here,” Hawke added. “Trying to blame Merrill, I can’t even fucking _imagine_ how much that’s adding to…well, everything.”

“Just try not to hurt him too badly because I am absolutely _not_ fixing him up,” Anders tried to smile.

“You know what, fuck it,” Hawke said as she set down her mug. “I’m gonna make her one anyway. If she doesn’t want it then she doesn’t want it but I guess at least then she’ll know…”

“That’s a good idea,” Anders nodded. “You’re a good friend, Trista.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged once she stood. “If _this_ is all it takes to qualify for that one, then…”

She didn’t really have any else to add, so she quickly made her way to the kitchen to make a cup for Merrill, grabbed her keys, and went downstairs.

“Hey,” she said softly as she approached Marethari’s room, but Merrill didn’t even look up. “I brought you something.”

She thought she caught Merrill shaking her head, but if she did the movement was so subtle she wasn’t entirely sure. Still, she set the mug down on the other chair in the room beside the one where her friend sat, where she’d hardly moved from.

“It’s there if you want it,” she continued quietly. “If you don’t, that’s fine, too. Either way, you know we’re here for you if you need anything at all.”

Merrill might have nodded just as vaguely as she’d shaken her head, if she’d shaken her head, but again it was unclear. The last time Hawke had gone down to check on her she’d been fidgeting uncontrollably, but this time she was unnervingly still.

The only other sound from the room came from Marethari herself, who had barely been sleeping, and Hawke wondered when had been the last time Merrill had actually slept, herself.

Marethari was twitching and muttering to herself, her words painfully slurred, but Hawke was able to make out something about there being a demon inside her.

It was fortunate that part of Anders’s storage floor was a veritable library of all things pertaining to disease, to medicine, to treatments, to whatever a doctor could ever need to know. He constantly worked to keep himself as educated as he possibly could given his lack of adequate credentials and the generally surreptitious nature of his operations. He didn’t ever want to turn anyone away, so he had to stay sharp, to always keep learning, to know everything about everything as much as he was able.

He’d almost wished, though, that he hadn’t been able to recognise this, hadn’t had to tell Merrill with absolute certainty just how grave it was. Or even that he didn’t know she could last like this for another few months, but that making it that long was highly unlikely, that by the time she’d reached them it could be any second. Yet he’d almost wished he didn’t know there was all but no chance he could even do so much as simply alleviate her symptoms, that her every last moment would be spent in agony, that there was nothing but unimaginable suffering left for her, that death would be a mercy.

“She’ll be fine,” Merrill had initially said in utter disbelief, complete non-acceptance for their circumstance. “You can heal anyone!”

“I’m so sorry,” he’d answered, so obviously stricken with grief he would later that night lament was not even his to claim, that he felt so guilty to have, that he’d no right to. He’d tried to tread carefully in his delivery, but he also knew he had to be honest, that it would be worse in the end to give her false hope. “But I can’t. No one can.”

“Da’len, vir sumeil,” Marethari had said to Merrill after Anders broke the news. “Ma ghilana mir din’an, da’len.”

Hawke didn’t know what the words meant, but she gathered they’d been intended to reassure Merrill somehow, although she also immediately saw that they did not. To make it worse, as far as Hawke herself had witnessed, that was the last time she spoke to Merrill with recognition, the last time she’d seemed to even know who Merrill was, and it had also apparently been the first time she’d appeared to remember her since Merrill had picked her up from her home in Sundermount. It had hurt less then, though, when she’d still believed it could get better. After that was when she shut down, when she closed off.

Hawke lingered there for a moment, not quite sure what she should do. She still didn’t want Merrill to be alone like that, as Marethari was barely even there any longer, but she felt like she was intruding all the same, like she was interfering with a deeply private moment, like her very presence there was offensively invasive.

“Goodnight, Merrill,” she finally spoke up, gently, just above a whisper. “You know where to find us if you need us.”

She reluctantly turned around to go back upstairs, detecting no movement or speech from Merrill while she was still within earshot.

“Fuck,” she said aloud when she sat back down beside Anders. “I wish…I don’t know, I just…I really hope she’s going to be okay.”

“She didn’t take it, did she?” Anders asked quietly, and Hawke shook her head.

“I left it for her just in case, but she barely even seemed to notice I was there,” she replied. “She’ll be okay, though, right? I mean, she has to be, eventually, doesn’t she? She has to get through this, she _has to.”_

She knew Anders didn’t know any better than she did, but he still offered his best version of hope. “She’s stronger than she thinks she is. I’m sure it’s going to take a while, but…I mean, yeah, she has to. At least she has Isabela.”

“Anders,” she started, the thought on her mind one that had been oddly haunting her since she’d faced her mother, albeit one was that was probably terribly inappropriate considering all that was going on around them, but the urge she’d been holding back to ask her question caught up to her anyway. “Have you ever wanted a family? Or well, _do_ you, I guess.”

“Honestly? Yeah, or at least I did once upon a time,” he responded somewhat hesitantly. “I came to terms with the idea that it’s most likely never going to happen a long time ago, but it _is_ something I’ve thought about. Why? Do you?”

“I actually have no idea,” she answered. “It’s only over the past couple of weeks that I’ve ever really given it any thought at all.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “I see.”

“I suppose I just figured it was worth asking,” she shrugged.

“That’s fair,” he noted casually, and then gestured towards her mug still sitting before her. “That’s probably cold, by the way.”

She picked it up and took a drink in hopes of taking away some of how awkward she felt then. “Eh, it’s not too bad.”

“Andraste’s knickers, I should probably get ready for an all-nighter,” Anders mused out loud after a couple of minutes in silence. “I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep tonight even if I wanted to.”

Before Hawke could utter a single word in response he stood up and made a beeline for the kitchen, and she caught up with him just as he reached into the pantry for coffee. She could almost hear the snap in the back of her mind at his much too casual thought, where hers rushed automatically to what she'd done the last time she herself had neglected sleep for a whole night, the idea popping open to let suddenly overwhelming emotion pour out over it all at once, indicating the break in the dam where the water levels had been grossly underestimated.

“Anders, you can’t do this to yourself,” she said for far from the first time. “It’s one thing if you can’t sleep but…fuck, you know what that can _do_ to people like us. If you start on an episode and your patients see you like that, who’s to say they won’t give in and go running to the Chantry or the fucking Gallows? Carver’s told me about his boss, Anders, even he says she’s a monster. I can’t let you voluntarily put yourself at that kind of risk.”

“Neither can you stop me, Trista,” Anders replied defiantly, evidently closer to the edge than she’d realised himself, and his hold over the bag of coffee he held tightened visibly. Of course this must have been eating away at him, having a patient he absolutely could not save, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have to mind his limits, didn’t mean she could just stand by and watch it take him over. _“You’re_ the one asking about family, and _you’re_ the one who always says that’s what the Crew is to us. And you’re right. If I can’t do everything in my power to protect the family I have now, what’s even the fucking point of talking about starting another one later on?”

“And how will you protect them if you work yourself to death?” Her eyes began to burn, her voice rose, her hands started to shake. “Or if they lock you away? We both know you’re not going through that again, Anders. We both know you’d never let them take you alive. I can’t fucking lose you to them, love, I won’t. Do you fucking hear me?”

Of course it had occurred to her before how great the chances he took were, of course it was a thought that had worried her from the start. That, however, was the first time she’d felt fear over it flood her like that, the first time the possibility ever truly felt real.

Anders looked as though he was about to speak and she instantly thought the worst of what he might say next, instantly cut him off before he could even start. “And I know…I know what I did the last time I was like that. I fucking know how terrible it is of me to say I don’t want to go through the same fucking thing I did to you. I know.”

“Trista, I—”

“But I’m not the only one at stake here, alright?” She couldn’t stop, it seemed, but her seething was not out of anger. It was a desperation, trepidation beyond measure, and she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, wasn’t sure she’d even desire to. “Our family needs you just as much as I do. Your patients need you just as much as I do. Even Lirene, Anders, fuck, how many people’s lives have that much more meaning because of you? I know what I did and I know that you love me; I know that I hurt you, that I hurt everyone. But no one _depends_ on me like they do you. That must be so much pressure but I’m _not_ sorry. I need you. _We_ need you. This is awful, yes, this is fucking terrible but you can’t help her. You can’t do any more. All _any_ of us can do now is be there for Merrill on the other side, and you know as well as I do that Isabela’s going to take first dibs on that anyway. I understand what you’re trying to do and I love that you want to be able to do it, but you can’t, okay? You’re one fucking person, you can’t literally be on-call 24/7. It’ll fucking destroy you, you even more than most, and you are the one shining light in Kirkwall, Anders, _please.”_

She was trembling by the time she finished, her heart was pounding. She’d never really gone off on him like that before, at least not in quite such a manner and not for any reason that came from outside herself. She internally readied herself to play her next card, to threaten to call Lirene, but Anders set his coffee grounds on the counter and leaned back against it. He crossed his arms, looked down at the floor. She couldn’t get a read on him, for once she genuinely could not read him and that only terrified her further.

“I’m sleeping with my phone directly under my pillow,” he said after what felt like hours, what was probably only a few minutes at most. “So at least that way it should definitely get me up if it rings.”

“That’s completely fair,” she agreed. “Do you think she’d be able to get anyone together on such short notice if I asked Lirene to try to gather up some extra volunteers for you tomorrow morning?”

“Maybe,” he said, unbearably hollow. “It’s worth a try, at least.”

“I’ll do that, then,” she offered as affectionately as she could, even though her voice was still shaking with the rest of her. “Anders, I…I love you.”

She didn’t have anything else to give, still so sure in her stance, in knowing she was right, but nevertheless so downtrodden to see him respond the way he was.

“I know,” he nodded in acceptance. “I love you, too.”

“I’m, umm,” she said nervously, her head moving in a million different directions at once, “I’m gonna grab a cigarette, alright? Yeah, I’m gonna head outside real quick and then I’m gonna head to bed.”

Thankfully he returned the coffee to the pantry, but it was plain to see that he was not entirely okay with their compromise.

“Alright,” he replied in the same tone as before. “I’m going to see if I can find where Pounce is hiding and then I’ll do the same.”

“Good,” she noted as she started to move towards the bedroom for her things, but then she swiftly turned on her heels, turned back to look at him. “Are we…good?”

“Yes, of course.” It was still so flat, so disconcertingly unconvincing. “We’re good, love.”

She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like it at all. Everything was crashing down around them, or at least it felt like, just as it far had too many times already, and she hated the idea that trying her best to reign in Anders’s compulsive need to sacrifice himself at any cost might actually make things worse. She wondered if she should have a conversation with Lirene. She decided she probably would.

She crawled her way outside followed by the sound of Anders shaking a bag of cat treats in the background. Pounce didn’t seem to react any better to such tension than either of them did, and even the effect she may have had on him laid itself down to weigh on her.

She sat down on the top step and lit her cigarette, then pulled out her phone with the purpose of checking the time. Yet when she moved to open it she promptly pulled up her contacts and selected, of all people, her mother.

“Trista?” She sounded groggy when she answered, as confused by the sudden call as Hawke herself. She didn’t actually look, had no idea what time it was, but she realised she’d likely woken her.

They were then both equally surprised by the fact that the sound of her mother’s voice was apparently her breaking point, when she instantly started sobbing in response to her name.

“What’s wrong, dear?” There was, at least, what came across as a genuine concern to the question. For perhaps the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like she was only being asked out of obligation, didn’t feel like she was being seen as a burden, a nuisance. How many such instances in the past were truly valid or only in her head, she was no longer sure, but it was exactly the kind of soothing tone she needed.

“Nothing, I…I don’t know, I just…” It was difficult to form words, what words she formed were difficult to understand.

She couldn’t actually tell her what was happening, not really. She wasn’t going to reveal that she was drawn to call her by the fact that a dear friend was losing the woman who raised her, that their relationship had also been rough, that she longed to make the amends Merrill would never be able to.

She knew, still, that in both of their cases it was because their mother figures were stubborn and often all too impatient, that they both faced opposition entirely out of their control that their mothers could not always understand, could not always handle.

She knew still further, though, that Merrill found herself every bit as much at fault watching Marethari decline as Hawke would with her mother in her shoes, and that one day no matter what she would also find herself in that position.

She could not, however, tell her mother that she was overwhelmed from spending the past few days as only a spectator to her friend’s self-contained implosion, how well she knew that even though hers would manifest much differently, that theirs would look nothing alike, their essences would be the very same. Neither could she explain how awful she felt that in that moment she’d evidently felt the need to make it about herself, that she evidently had to mourn her hypotheticals when it was actively actually happening to Merrill, but she couldn’t still be grateful she’d get the time to fix things her friend wouldn’t, that she’d somehow been graced with a gift she had never known could exist when Merrill deserved it so much more.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she eventually managed, and coherently at that. “Umm, I love you.”

“Trista, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Her mother sounded almost panicked, she was sure she could practically hear her jolt out of bed, and her guilt festered, but that wasn’t really on her mother, not this time.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just…me, I guess.” She knew it would work, that it would serve as reason enough, that even her mother would be unlikely to question that.

“Okay,” she sighed, and it seemed Hawke was right. “Okay, I…you scared me for a second there.”

“I’m sorry,” she mustered forlornly, but pleased her voice was beginning to properly find itself again.

“No, dear, it’s alright,” her mother offered. She was trying. She was actually trying. They both were. They still could. “Do you, umm, do you need anything?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “I, uh, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m trying, I’m just trying to get through, you know?”

“I think I actually do this time,” she replied with a small laugh, and Hawke attempted to take some comfort in it.

“I know it’s getting late,” she spoke up after a hard swallow, absent-mindedly forcing down the smoke she hadn’t even noticed she’d just inhaled too hard and coughing loudly in turn. “Ugh, sorry. Anyway, I’ll let you go, I just…yeah.”

“Yeah,” her mother echoed. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Alright.”

They ended the call and she wiped her face across her sleeve before she finished what little was left of her cigarette and crawled back inside the apartment.

She went straight for the bedroom, and she was grateful to see that Anders was already there, Pounce balled up at the foot of the bed. She changed quickly, tossing her clothes across the room without care, and plugged in her phone before joining them.

“Are you alright?” His voice had slightly more inflection to it, but not yet enough to put her much at ease. He could probably tell she’d been crying, for all she knew he probably even heard it, so it seemed he was trying, too. It was all any of them could do.

“No,” she answered bluntly, honestly, and then took in a deep breath. “How about you?”

“No,” he followed, but she was appreciative of the fact that at least he didn’t try to hide it.

She curled into him just as she always did, and he wrapped his arms around her just as he always did. It was tense but the love between them was still present, and she tried her best to hang onto that much.

Despite how upsetting she’d found it, despite the argument that it caused, she knew Anders was right that sleep was not on their side, that it was futile to hope for a night that was truly restful. She only knew, however, that she couldn’t stand by and watch him not even try, watch him willingly put so much on the line.

They had to try. It was all any of them could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, if you follow me on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) then you may have seen my note that I'm a huge asshole for this chapter. I'm sorry.
> 
> In case anyone's wondering, Marethari has [Creutzfeldt-Jakob](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creutzfeldt%E2%80%93Jakob_disease?wprov=sfsi1), and I went in that direction because reasons. One is that I am a truly terrible person who also happens to have a weird fascination with prion diseases. Another is that I wanted it to be something that could mirror the in-game canon as closely as possible in regards to being a unique and absolutely awful situation, especially considering that I still legitimately have no idea whether or not I'm going to kill Leandra so this is just kind of...the thing for the time being.
> 
> Also, what Marethari says to Merrill translates as, "Little one, we are close. Guide me into death."


	48. It's Never That Easy, It Isn't Always So Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to self-destructive tendencies, general anxiety, discussion of character deaths, continuing references to terminal illness
> 
> Angst and fluff, angst and fluff.
> 
> ["Love Like Blood" by Killing Joke](https://youtu.be/vsvMOPlhg2g)   
>  ["No Time to Cry" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/3BNF0VrM8o8)   
>  ["Tie Up My Hands" by Starsailor](https://youtu.be/XcqOD6KxPbM)

“I think it’s because we’re so alike sometimes,” Hawke admitted to Lirene during a slow point in the day. “I guess just because I know how _I_ can get and I know in most cases that probably means he gets that way, too, and that scares me.”

She’d actually woken up before Anders, whose phone hadn’t made a single sound throughout the night. She hadn’t meant to but she also hadn’t enough time for it to be worthwhile to try to go back to sleep anyway, so she got up and got ready, and then she simply left, walked out and caught the bus to work. She only ended up being about a half hour early, nothing a quick run for coffee and a few cigarettes couldn’t ease past. She was still all too frazzled and she knew leaving on her own without a word like that wasn’t going to help matters, was in fact most assuredly only going to worsen them, but it was too late to change it then.

“I’m glad someone’s watching out for him like you are, Hawke,” Lirene sighed, “but Maker only knows there’s only so much you can do sometimes.”

“It’s not fair to him, I know,” Hawke shook her head. “There should be other fucking resources in this city. Or…anywhere, for fuck’s sake. It’s bullshit that so much has to fall on him and I don’t know how he does it but…well, don’t you ever worry there might come a time when he _can’t?”_

“No,” Lirene answered quickly. “Believe it or not, dear, I actually don’t. You’re right, the pressure he’s under must be immeasurable and it’s not even like he has anyone to take it off of him every once in a while, not really, but I know it gives him purpose. He’s still prone to cracking under it from time to time, sure, but I think that pressure’s what’s kept him going this long. He’s made himself indispensable and even he and all his self-doubts know it. Watch out for him, absolutely, because he definitely has a long way to go in terms of learning his limits or even sometimes basic self-preservation, and I know that’s hard, but he needs this just as much as it needs him. It’ll all figure itself out eventually and balance accordingly.”

“You really do believe that,” Hawke looked Lirene in the eyes. She felt so small, sounded so small, wanted to shrink further down. “Thanks.”

She heard the door open and readied herself to put her best face forward and stand at the register, but Lirene held out a hand to stop her before she could turn around.

“Go home,” she said gently. “Maybe try to talk to him yourself. Maker knows he should have far more people than he bargained for over there right now to help him out. Anyway, get some rest or something, dear, start over tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke didn’t particularly want to turn down such a gracious offer, but she felt wrong accepting it at the same time. “This close to the holiday and all…”

“Go,” Lirene insisted. “I’ll even pay you for the whole day if you leave in the next ten minutes.”

That earned her a laugh, and Hawke nodded in gratitude. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Thanks, Mum.”

Lirene gave her a quick hug before she went to gather up her things and she pretended to herself she’d said that on purpose and that it was somehow funny, and in any case neither of them mentioned it.

***

She didn’t go straight to Anders’s. The Hightown bus came first, so she decided to stop at her actual home, or at least the one which still held the honour on paper. She picked up a few things just to have, and then she decided to take a trip to Enchantments since it wasn’t really too far out of her way and she knew there was another bus stop right outside its door.

It was the kind of shop that had everything, not dissimilar to Lirene’s but much bigger and far less niche. Lirene’s was, of course, exceptionally popular with the city’s large refugee population and those who sympathised with their plight. Enchantments had a wider selection and patronage by default, however, as they sold goods from all across Thedas. Some of it new, some of it second hand, and they were always accepting new additions to the latter category.

“Welcome, messere.” Hawke was greeted by the petite blonde woman who was always at the door whenever anyone came in. Her name was Orana and she was very sweet, although she always seemed like she was overwhelmed by something, or perhaps even afraid. She had the slightest shake in her hands, well enough hidden that Hawke probably wouldn’t catch it if she didn’t often have one so very like it herself, and her eyes never seemed able to stay still, always darting around the room instead of staying on whomever she was speaking to. Hawke couldn’t help but wonder if she had any sort of backstory that would warrant alerting her to Anders’s after hours activities, but she knew it wasn’t really appropriate to ask such a thing of someone she didn’t actually know at all and who was only there trying to do her job. So she smiled and nodded politely, a quiet “hello” falling from her lips as she entered.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she was there then. Part of her worried it might have been a desire to kill time, to try to stifle her nerves before heading back and doing exactly what it was Lirene let her out early to do. Another part of her thought that maybe it was their conversation from a few weeks ago, wherein it was revealed that Anders had a thing for jewellery and that Hawke would be lying if she said she wouldn’t like to see him indulge it from time to time, not only for her own reasons but because it would genuinely be nice to see him let go enough to do so. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of what she imagined had been a more hopeful version of himself. She knew still that such an image couldn’t be very accurate, but she also knew Kirkwall had taken its toll on him, as it appeared to do to everyone who immigrated there. She knew it had been so quick to take from him, from him more than most, had wasted no time in causing him great pain and shifting his life around even more than he could have anticipated. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to browse for a little while. It was only just after 1:30pm, it wasn’t like she and Anders were likely to have any real time for a while yet, despite Lirene’s rally of volunteers for the clinic that day.

She spotted a ring with cat ears atop the band and it made her think of Anders immediately, but she didn’t know his size and for some reason she didn’t feel comfortable asking. It would, after all, be terribly conspicuous of her and it didn’t feel an appropriate way to start the conversation that day after such a tense night and the nervous inconsideration of the morning that had followed.

“Anything I can help you with?” Bodahn, the shop’s owner, asked from beside her, and she nearly jumped.

“Umm,” she breathed out as she anxiously turned to look at him, and she only hoped he didn’t notice he’d startled her so. “I’m just looking right now, thank you.”

“I’m sorry, messere, if you don’t mind,” he stopped just as he looked like he was going to move on, “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“Umm, well, I have shopped here before,” she shrugged.

“No, that’s not it…” The wheels were clearly turning in his mind, and he perked up after only a second or two with realisation on his face. “You’re with that Anders fellow, aren’t you?”

She cocked her head slightly, trying to remember if she might ever have seen him outside the shop before, but she drew a blank. She didn’t even see him inside the shop very often, especially as she visited it less and less spending so much time away from Hightown.

“I am, how—”

“I knew it!” Bodahn cut in excitedly. “I’ve seen you in his clinic once or twice just passing through. That Anders is a wonderful man, he is. Great with my boy.”

Hawke still wasn’t sure at all what he was referring to, and then he held up a finger at her and ran towards the back of the store. He returned about a minute later, where she’d only stood there looking confused in the meantime, with a stack of books.

“Could you give these back to him when you see him?” Bodahn asked her, and he quickly reached for a tote bag from a nearby rack and shoved the books inside. “You probably shouldn’t be walking around with these too obvious…I can ask Orana to gift wrap them just to be safe…”

“That’s fine, really,” she assured him before he could get too much more flustered, and she took the bag from him. One had the spine flipped towards the top and she picked it up to turn it around. It was a workbook for parents of children with intellectual and developmental disabilities. “Oh.”

She uttered the last word so quietly no one heard, but everything made complete sense then.

“I don’t know where he even finds these things,” Bodahn spoke up again, but he kept his voice hushed. “However he does it, that man is a _lifesaver._ Say hello from me when you give those to him, too. You tell him hi from Sandal, as well, alright? He’s been asking about him.”

“Of course,” Hawke nodded. This was exactly what she was talking about the night before, about how important he was, how needed he was. She was glad she’d stopped in, a feeling that did not usually follow her doing anything at all on any kind of whim, and she smiled softly to herself.

“One more thing, messere,” Bodahn added just as she started to lose herself in thought. “I, umm, have something else to give you. Well, I was going to give it to Anders himself but Lirene mentioned I might be seeing you and to give it to you if I did. I’m just glad I recognised you…”

He ran to the back again and returned with a piece of bright blue paper that had been folded over, blank side out, and he looked up at her apprehensively when she accepted it. She moved to open it and he glanced around suspiciously but did not stop her, and understanding washed over her once more when she read it.

It was a flier for that radical organisation Lirene had mentioned before. Hawke had, of course, already given them a donation, just as Lirene thought she would, and was planning on giving Anders the details on Satinalia. What was offered here, though, was a date and time and location. They were going to be holding a protest outside the Gallows on First Day.

She hastily folded the paper back over and put it in the bag with the books, and she and Bodahn nodded at each other when she looked back to him.

“I don’t mean to keep you, messere,” he told her after another moment. “Feel free to peruse my wares and just let me know if you need help finding anything. And you can keep the bag.”

“Thanks,” she answered with another nod and she decided to look around the shop a bit more, already a little nervous about arousing any potential suspicion.

She managed to spot a necklace while she did, though, that she knew she had to buy. It was a bit large and so ridiculously gaudy she couldn’t for a second imagine Anders actually wearing it, but she figured he had to have it anyway, as it depicted a woman’s body designed and posed in a way that was obviously meant to resemble Andraste, complete with the long flowing hair she was always pictured as having, but with a cat’s head. Orana rang it up and Hawke made sure to be especially polite, and she put her earbuds in the second she went back outside.

_“We must play our lives like soldiers in the field. The life is short, I’m running faster all the time. Strength and beauty, destined to decay, so cut the rose in full bloom…”_

The bus arrived almost as soon as she started fumbling around in her bag for fare, which she couldn’t have planned better if she tried, and she clumsily collected herself while she stepped on and sat herself down.

_“‘Til the fearless come and the act is done, a love like blood, a love like blood…”_

She considered texting Anders to let him know she’d be back early. She surprised herself by spending the better part of an hour at Enchantments when all was said and done, but that still meant she had quite a while yet before she was expected. She didn’t know if he still planned to pick her up, but she’d be able to see him long before she needed to worry about that specifically becoming a problem, so she let her nerves win that round and decidedly neglected to inform him ahead of time.

_“Every day through all frustration and despair, love and hate fight with burning hearts ‘til legends live and and man is god again, and self-preservation rules the day no more…”_

She held everything she had tightly against herself in her seat, and she’d certainly ended up with more than she’d expected. She only took one bag’s worth of things from home but the bag of books was a fairly heavy addition, and she did put a little extra effort into keeping that one concealed.

Fortunately it was a fairly short ride and an even shorter walk to Anders’s building once she got off, and she realised that she didn’t like that her mind had already shifted back to more commonly thinking of it as Anders’s. She knew she still had no claim over it and she had still even been needing to remind him of that fact, but that didn’t seem to stop her from taking in that welcoming familiarity, that sense of home she wasn’t sure she’d ever really quite felt before. That probably wasn’t fair to Aveline and it wasn’t at all a slight against her, as she had given Hawke more in the past few months than her mother had done in a lifetime, although she tried to set that aside given that bridge’s recent change in designation of “to cross” from “to burn.” Anders’s felt different, though, all the same. Not necessarily more of whatever that exact feeling quite was than Aveline’s, but different. A good different, and she didn’t want to let her head cloud too much for her to be able to see that, and she was worried that was precisely what was happening.

_“We must dream of promised lands and fields that never fade in season, as we move towards no end we learn to die, red tears are shed on grey…”_

She stared out the window as the bus moved, watched the buildings blur as it sped past them. It looked far later in the day than it was. The sky was dark and she could see the wind was blowing harder, and she had to appreciate that. She and Aveline had many laughs over the years over her preferred weather and jokes about clichés and aesthetics, but she also found herself indulging a hint of childlike wonder upon internally noting how it was right kind of overcast that looked like it might even snow. She hadn’t experienced it since she moved to Kirkwall and the idea was comforting somehow.

_“‘Til the fearless come and the act is done…”_

The time of day meant it would be an even quicker ride than usual, and she hopped up and ran to the front as well as could with everything she carried when she noticed they were already about to approach her stop. She breathed out gratefully as she exited for having made it just in time, and she carefully maneuvered her bags so she could grab a cigarette without having to set down anything.

_“It’s just a feeling I get sometimes. A feeling, sometimes, and I get frightened just like you. I get frightened, too. But it’s…”_

She leaned against the wall of the building the bus let out in front of. She wasn’t sure what it was, she was pretty sure it was actually abandoned, but in that moment it felt like the greatest certainty she’d known in days.

_“No time for heartache, no time to run and hide, no time for breaking down, no time to cry…”_

She glanced at her phone and he still hadn’t texted her. She knew she should have made the first move and she should have done it hours before, but she supposed that was what she was readying herself to do then. She didn’t quite understand why she was so anxious about it, either. It was one argument and it wasn’t even really that bad in the grand scheme of things. She didn’t actually think it was that big of a thing and she knew that it escalated as it did due to circumstances outside their control. She also knew, though, that it was the worst it had gotten since they’d been officially together and it reminded her too much of how much they had both tried to push to try to prevent themselves from allowing that to happen to begin with.

She shook her head and tossed aside the remains of the cigarette she’d finished all too quickly. She lit another.

_“Everything will be alright, everything will turn out fine. Some nights I still can’t sleep and the voices pass with time and I keep no time for tears, no time to run and hide, no time to be afraid of fear, I keep no time to cry…”_

She started walking. The wind was getting worse and it almost hurt to breathe in hard enough to smoke, and it was wearing down her cigarettes faster than she could keep up anyway, so it just seemed wasteful to continue. She went for another drag when she got within a few feet of the building, expecting to have a few left. She got one. It was definitely time to give up on that effort of distraction, of procrastination.

She opened the door and saw there was no one waiting. She removed her headphones and walked further in, and she peeked into every open door she saw. It was almost empty. She passed by a couple of young people she was pretty sure she’d seen before, presumably courtesy Lirene, who looked terribly bored. Anders must have sent most of the volunteers who’d been called in home already, then.

She finally caught him entering the hallway and closing the door to Marethari’s room behind him, and he stopped where he was, obviously surprised to see her.

“Hey,” she started, and she felt even more panicked than she had expected.

“Hey,” he echoed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded and quickly decided on honesty. “Lirene just knows things have been tense around here so she sent me home to…collect myself or something, I guess. Slow day?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d be all tied up with…well,” he paused and cocked his head towards the door behind him. “Not too many others have come in so far today, though.”

She knew there was more small talk, knew she could divert the conversation for longer to keep preventing it from even starting, but she breathed deep and cut herself off from that train of thought.

“Anders, I—”

“I can’t right now, I’m sorry,” he interrupted at the obvious detection of where she was going. She hadn’t actually come up with the end of that statement, but she still felt she needed to begin somewhere and not being able to wasn’t going to help.

“Please, can we for just a moment—”

“After I close, alright?” He was clearly upset with her and she knew she only had herself to blame at that point, knew that they could easily have moved past the night before if she hadn’t been so eager to leave in the morning without even waking him. She didn’t blame him for that, but with his lack of patients or seemingly anything to do for the time being, it stung that this was where they landed.

“Alright,” she reluctantly agreed. “I’ll see you in a bit, then?”

“See you in a bit,” he replied quietly, and the air around them felt colder. She knew that was entirely in her head, but that chill ran through her all the same.

She put down her things after she walked into the apartment and crashed down onto the couch. She lied down and pulled out her phone again. She had hours yet, and that settled heavily into her chest. For some reason she remembered that Isabela had sent her something to listen to at some point a couple of months ago, maybe longer. It was probably only a few weeks after they met but she couldn’t recall for sure. In any case, she’d completely forgotten about it before, so she pulled it up then to prevent giving herself the chance to do so again.

_“Wipe the make-up from your face, tie your hair and gently fall from grace until I come again. Take the disaffected life, men who ran the company ran your life, you could have been his wife. I wanna love you but my hands are tied, I wanna stay here but I’ve been denied, let’s watch the clock until the morning sun does rise…”_

She quickly deemed it safe to assume it almost definitely had to have been in those first few weeks and she knew exactly why, and it was strange and uncomfortable how relevant such a thing felt to her again.

_“Wipe the sweat off your brow, all that you believe is the here and now. You could have had more doubt, wipe the shadow from your eyes…”_

She placed her phone on her chest and breathed slowly. She didn’t think it should hurt like it did. She saw no reason it should hurt like it did. There was surely no cause for her eyes to water, for her vision to become obstructed as it did.

_“I wanna hold you but my hands are tied, I wanna stay here but I’ve been denied, I wanna lie here ‘til we’ve killed this bitter doubt…”_

“Fuck it,” she muttered to herself. She sat up and tried to mind her bleary eyes. She was able to show emotion when she needed to like that more and more frequently, and it was every bit as inconvenient as it was freeing.

_“I wanna hold you but my hands are tied, I wanna stay here but I’ve been denied, let’s watch the clock until the morning sun does rise…”_

She stood and took off her jacket, and she found some scraps of composure when she hung it on the door, reminding her of that feeling of home.

_“I wanna lie here ‘til we’ve killed this bitter doubt…”_

She set down her phone just as the song was ending and picked up her keys from her bag and went back downstairs. She was surprised to see Anders as soon as she opened the door to the first floor, that he had picked up a single chair and was just sitting by himself in that back room looking at the floor. She wasn’t sure he noticed her, seeing as he didn’t move at all, that he gave no indication that he registered her presence.

“Anders.” Her voice was breathy, with that higher sort of raspy quality it adopted so often anymore. It must have had something to do with letting feelings out. She didn’t realise previously there would be so many inflections she could create in such situations.

He looked up and she figured her make-up must have run or something else that rendered her transparent because his face changed in an instant.

“Anders,” she started again when he met her eyes. “This is fucking stupid.”

She grabbed a chair for herself and set it down a few feet across from his, and he looked to the ceiling and then back at her.

“I know,” he agreed. “I just…I don’t know, I…”

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she offered sincerely. “I know I shouldn’t have done that, I know I fucked up on that one. I think I just…I just panicked. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Anders, you know that. And I’m still not sorry about last night. I stand by that. Which I guess explains why I had to do _something_ to make it my fault.”

She laughed at the end of her statement, laughed bitterly at herself, at her own self-awareness doing her credit in ways she regularly wished it didn’t. She shook her head and leaned backwards, crossed her legs and her arms and started chewing on the inside of her bottom lip.

“I don’t either; you know that, too,” he replied gently. “I don’t expect you to understand how fucking much I hate this, having no fucking control and no hope, knowing there is literally _nothing_ I can do and then having the actual fucking audacity to even be _upset_ about it when…”

“I don’t understand your exact position, you’re right,” she admitted, and he nodded gratefully at her, and she knew it was being able to leave those last words unsaid. “I do get being upset when you don’t feel you have the right to, though. I don’t think this is leaving any of us intact, honestly. Fuck, I called my mother last night.”

“Fuck,” Anders exhaled, clearly grasping the weight of what she just said.

“I’ll never tell Merrill about that, of course,” she continued. “I’ve already made this my own in my head enough, there’s no reason I need to do it to her face as well. I can see its effect on you, too, and it scares the shit out of me, Anders, when I _know_ how fucking similar we can be. Fuck…”

She watched him for a moment, the way he watched her, the way he looked like he was searching for what to say, but she found more words of her own first. “Anders, I watched my father die. I was _in the room_ when it happened. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Mother, Bethany, Carver…I told them I found him. I told them I went to check in on him and he was gone when I got there. Mother was working, Carver was probably out getting laid or some shit, and Bethany was isolating. But I was there because I was so afraid and I didn’t understand what was happening to him and I thought I was just overthinking or being…I don’t know, paranoid or something, but it all happened so fucking fast and it turned out I was right. I know it’s from a different perspective but I still had to face that, to know I couldn’t do a damn thing about it when I knew even then that something needed to be done. I’ve never _quite_ blamed myself for that one, though, because it wasn’t like Bethany. Even _I_ still knew it was completely out of my hands. Just like _this_ is out of _yours._ You know, if there really is a Maker, I honestly just don’t think he likes _us_ very much.”

“Fuck,” Anders whispered in reply. “Still, love, you scared me, alright? I woke up alone and I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if something happened or…I didn’t know if you did something or if you just decided to _leave._ It didn’t even occur to me that you’d just leave _for the day_ like that.”

“Oh fuck, Anders, I’m so sorry,” she said with a crack in her voice.

“I know,” he sighed. “Lirene called me when you got in, but…you could have at least texted me, Trista.”

“Yeah, I…” She lost the words she was searching for again, never finding the right amount, only ever pulling forward too many or nothing of worth.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he interjected. “You were right to worry and I know where that came from and I _know_ I shouldn’t tempt fate like that, at least not on purpose, like you said. I let this whole thing hit me too personally and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still doing that, but that doesn’t change that you were right.”

She nodded and a small wave of relief hit her that allowed her to uncross her limbs, but she did not let up on her lip.

“Except,” Anders added sternly, catching her off guard. “Do not _ever_ fucking try to tell me again that people don’t need you.”

His eyes crinkled at her, his gaze grew in intensity as he looked her directly in the eyes, and his had a pleading to them she did not expect.

“I need you,” he continued more quietly, the emotion of it all catching up to him as it already had to her. “We all do. Every one of us loves you, you know that. I _know_ that you know that. I don’t care if you don’t know why, right now I don’t care that you don’t believe you deserve it. You _can’t_ fucking question that it’s _there,_ though. You can’t possibly, and maybe it was just the thought, the very idea that you _might_ that hurt most of all.”

“I didn’t even think of it that way.” She kept her eyes locked as firmly on his as he did hers, and the palpable tension surrounding them at last began to dissipate. “I love you. I love you so fucking much and I never want…”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “I love you, too.”

He stood up and she figured it was probably to check on the front, perhaps to peek into Marethari’s room, even just to peek in on Merrill. As soon as he made it to his feet, though, she stood up as well and practically lunged at him, taking him into her arms and holding him as close as she possibly could.

He kissed the top of her head with his reciprocation, and she only breathed him in, not realising just how afraid she was to lose him over what she was correct in guessing wouldn’t really even be that big of a thing in the end.

“It’s probably really selfish of us to be arguing right now anyway, isn’t it?” She tried to laugh at herself against his chest but there was nothing funny about it, so she simply further tensed her arms around him.

“Yeah, it is,” he replied anyway, and it made her feel a little better that he at least tried to go with it. “I probably _should_ get back to it, though. I know there’s not much going on but that could still change at any moment…”

“I understand, love,” she answered, and that time she genuinely did. “I’ll head back up, then. You know where to find me.”

She smiled up at him as she let go, and he looked back at her so warmly.

He glanced at his watch and she knew they hadn’t taken up that much time so she just said again, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Alright, love,” he answered before he pulled her in again, planting another kiss atop her head, and then another on her lips after he broke away, and then one more for good measure.

Finally they did actually part ways, and he moved to walk down the halls while she walked the other way to go back to the apartment.

To go back home.

She really did have to wonder what was going to happen with Aveline’s, what specific opportunities her Satinalia with Donnic could provide them all. She didn’t know if it was the wisest move, she knew it had been so little time, as she’d already expressed to him, but she wanted to take Anders up on his offer more than ever before. She didn’t ever want to leave it, to leave him. She knew it had been so little time, she knew she didn’t really know anything when it came down to it, but she didn’t think she’d ever felt so sure of anything as she felt about this.

She was just going to curl back up on the couch but Pounce had claimed her spot and she didn’t want to disturb him, so she picked up her phone and her jacket, and then went through her bag and crawled out onto the fire escape.

She lit a cigarette and looked pensively towards the sky, and that’s when she noticed that it actually was, in fact, starting to snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, even more certain than I was before that the current Satinalia theme is just me _desperately_ attempting to wish summer away from myself.
> 
> Many, _many_ thanks to [un-shit-yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself) for being an angstlord and getting my ass moving on this update by giving me the last song of the chapter, which just so happened to be perfectly what I needed for it. Emotional trash music-y fic writer solidarity? :)
> 
> Also, I am _finally_ learning to reply to comments! If you left any earlier on and I never acknowledged it, I am so sorry that I am an awkward disaster and really just hadn't yet figured out how to interact in such a manner. I'm definitely improving and future comments _will_ be engaged in some fashion. I am so incredibly grateful for every single one, not just the ones I've publicly regarded. Seriously, I'm working on it, and I am so sorry.
> 
> And of course, feel free to follow all my garbage screaming on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	49. Merriment in the Contrary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a lot of discussion of character death, illness, implied/referenced past abuse, brief nod to Kinloch, referenced hypersexuality, implied escapist drinking
> 
> ["The Cave" by Mumford and Sons](https://youtu.be/x6rYPHmSzcE)   
>  ["Totalimmortal" by AFI](https://youtu.be/2EC5kqUlFLc)   
>  ["Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)" by AWOLnation](https://youtu.be/i2PsXT88UeU)   
>  ["Baby's on Fire" from Velvet Goldmine](https://youtu.be/sXVzR6C7K94)

Satinalia was to fall on a Thursday that year, and the Tuesday before they decided to break routine again. Instead of meeting in the back of Anders’s clinic, they congregated at the Hanged Man so they could feel safe in inviting others to join them.

Donnic came with Aveline, Carver was able to make it out, and Isabela invited a friend who also apparently invited a friend, although both of them were running late.

Merrill did come along with them, thankfully, although that was not an easy thing to accomplish. Anders promised her someone would be in the clinic to watch over, though, and that he’d receive a call the second anything happened were anything to happen, and that seemed to be enough. Of course they’d have cancelled the whole thing, or at least kept it small and in its usual place, had doing otherwise meant leaving her alone, and Merrill probably realised that, but whether Hawke was comforted by the idea that it at least got her out of her own head for a moment or guilty over the prospect of such a thing coming across as inadvertently manipulative, she couldn’t say. Either way, it definitely didn’t stop Isabela from being obviously relieved to have her there, although even she appeared to be attempting to quell her joy over the occasion.

Everyone who wouldn’t be seeing each other on the holiday proper who celebrated was exchanging gifts, so bags and boxes were passed around the table. Hawke was more nervous than she wished to show about giving hers, but the amount of help she’d gotten from Lirene made her feel a little better about how well she did on that front. Aveline loved her Keurig, despite it being a lower-end model, and Varric was elated by his assortment of intricately carved leather-bound notebooks. Donnic was quite pleased with his new collection of board and card games, and Fenris cracked the widest smile she’d ever seen from him over his, one book on the history and legacy of Seheron’s ancient order of Fog Warriors, as well as a self-help book Anders had tracked down regarding the physical and emotional management of chronic pain. Even Carver surprised her by professing sincere gratitude upon receiving his, a framed mint condition vintage Fereldan Army propaganda poster.

In return she got another carton of cigarettes from Varric, which she then assumed was simply going to become a running gag, new boots from Aveline, a record player from Donnic, a large plush rendition of the fabled Mabari war hound, a popular Fereldan legend with a rich and beloved history, from Fenris, and perhaps most profoundly, their father’s old records from Carver, who was apparently also responsible for suggesting Donnic’s contribution.

Merrill and Isabela both stayed out of the exchange entirely, as it turned out the latter party had never been Andrastian, either, and had therefore also never celebrated Satinalia and had no real desire to start. Isabela was never one to turn down a night at the tavern with friends, however, especially when she wasn’t working, so they joined regardless.

Drinks were passed around as eagerly as gifts, and Varric had rigged the electronic jukebox to provide free music in honour of the occasion. Other customers were, thankfully, sparse so close to the holiday, although Varric would be keeping it open all week given how popular it could be day of, the sad thought of how many people so desperately needed a drink on Satinalia, people which would normally have included Hawke herself any previous year.

_“It’s empty in the valley of your heart; the sun, it rises slowly as you walk away from all the fears and the faults you’ve left behind…”_

The squeeze in Hawke’s chest that came with the beginning of the song playing was one she was ashamed to admit she hadn’t quite felt in a little while, and she looked around the table anxiously. “Who put this on?”

_“The harvest left no food for you to eat, you cannibal, you meat-eater, you see, but I have seen the same, I know the shame in your defeat…”_

“I did,” Carver answered with an awkward nod. “I just…I know how much Bethany loved this and I guess I just wanted some sort of piece of her to be here tonight.”

_“But I will hold on hope and I won’t let you choke upon that noose around your neck, and I’ll find strength in pain and I will change my ways, I’ll know my name as it’s called again…”_

He didn’t know she’d had that album on a loop when she died, he didn’t know that’s how Hawke had found her. He probably knew next to nothing about the finer details knowing their mother, so all he knew was that it had in fact been a favourite of Bethany’s, and Hawke appreciated the thought behind it. She tried to think of a response, but she was promptly saved by Aveline.

“To Bethany,” she cheered and raised her glass, and Hawke and Carver, as well as Varric, immediately mimicked, followed by the rest of the table silently raising their own after a second’s delay, and she waited until they’d all taken their drinks to add anything. “Fuck, it really _won’t_ feel quite like Satinalia without her, will it?”

_“So tie me to a post and block my ears, I can see widows and orphans through my tears, I know my call despite my faults and despite my growing fears…”_

“I miss her so much,” Carver spoke up in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I don’t know if it’s a twin thing or what, if that even really makes any sense, but I haven’t felt… _complete_ since she left.”

“Alright, Carver, now I think you’re letting the beer talk for you,” Hawke tried to joke, but it fell as short as she knew she should’ve expected and Carver shook his head with his eyes towards the floor. “No, I…I know. Believe me, I know.”

“I think she’d be glad she’s being included even now,” Aveline said when Hawke let out a long sigh. “She had so much love for everyone but herself…you two more than anyone.”

“You, too,” Carver admitted. “You always were the annoying older sister we already fucking had one too many of.”

“Love you, too,” Hawke and Aveline said together, their tones aggressively sarcastic but the sincerity somehow not lost.

“Yeah, yeah, love you both, too,” Carver grumbled, and Hawke and Aveline both couldn’t help but laugh.

_“So come out of your cave walking on your hands and see the world hanging upside down. You can understand dependence when you know the maker’s hand. So make your siren’s call and sing all you want, I will not hear what you have to say. ‘Cause I need freedom now and I need to know how to live my life as it’s meant to be, and I will hold on hope and I won’t let you choke…”_

“Does it ever get easier?” Merrill asked after a moment, the first words Hawke had personally heard from her in far too long. “Losing someone you love like that?”

She was hard to hear, she spoke so softly, and her voice was almost hoarse from lack of use, but everyone appeared so relieved to see her participate at all that she shrunk under the way they all turned their focus to listen.

“Sort of,” Hawke said honestly. “They never really leave you, and sometimes that can be comforting. I’m not going to lie and tell you that you ever stop missing them or anything like that, that you never lose those off moments where you want to tell them something and then remember you can’t, but you do get used to it and it does kind of…I guess it just starts to, well, _normalise_ after a while, if that makes any sense.”

“You learn to remember what you had and make the most of the best memories, and you keep them close,” Aveline added. “You see them in everything for a while but like Hawke said, eventually it becomes more of a comfort than a burden.”

“The grief feels like it’s changing you,” Carver spoke up carefully. “It hurts so much you don’t think you can ever come out whole, and I honestly don’t know if I can say you ever really do, but you don’t lose as much of yourself as you thought you would. Because after a while you come to terms as best you can and realise that’s not what they would have wanted for you.”

“And don’t feel guilty whenever you think back on the bad shit, too,” Varric chimed in. “It’ll happen, trust me, just ‘cause they’re gone _doesn’t_ mean they’re absolved of all their sins. If it makes you feel better to remember the good then remember the good, but don’t beat yourself up if sometimes you just fucking can’t. They were only human, and so are you.”

“You’ll still miss them no matter what,” Anders said softly, the most delicately of them all. “You miss them more than you ever knew you could. You have other people here now, though, who love you like family, and it’s not always easy to find solace in that—Maker, sometimes it feels bloody impossible—but it’ll come.”

Anders’s addition felt like a breath of fresh air to Hawke, to think that he was finally starting to accept the love and support he offered so readily to everyone else. She wished then that he could have known Bethany, too, not only for the Kirkwall Crew like she so regularly thought, but more for how she always felt about Anders and her father, more for the both of them as individuals and how well they’d have gotten on if they’d only been given the chance.

“One more thing, Merrill,” Aveline spoke up again. “We’re all here to support you, but do not _ever_ let anyone try to tell you how to grieve or when it’s time to move on. That’s _your_ call and your call _alone.”_

“Thanks,” Merrill replied with the strained beginnings of a smile. She was forcing it, that much was clear, but it was such a contrast to where she’d been only hours ago all the same.

“To Wesley, to my father, and to the mother I never knew,” Aveline said as she raised her glass a second time.

“To Father,” Hawke said and did the same, echoed automatically by Carver.

“To Bartrand,” Varric said and then very quickly downed the entirety of the drink in his hand.

“To Karl, and to my mother,” Anders said quietly with his.

“To Marethari,” Merrill followed hesitantly, and then again the rest of the table silently finished the round.

“Maker’s balls,” Fenris said after a brief silence confirmed that the memorial toasts had concluded. “I thought that All Soul’s Day had already passed this year.”

It was obviously meant as a bad joke, but that holiday had indeed passed a couple of months prior, and had been intentionally ignored by Hawke, who then grimaced slightly into the flash of guilt that presented itself at the thought.

Still, Fenris poured himself another glass with a smirk and the tone of the room returned to the lightness it had held before that conversation started, and everyone seemed to all let go at once as drinks were passed around further, casually mingled with laughter and smoke and haphazardly discarded tissue paper.

Their table was full with pitchers and bottles, cheap beer and wines both red and white, which flowed freely amongst the group, Norah stopping by only every once in a while to check in and replace anything that had been emptied.

“Isabela, mia cara,” called out a thick Antivan accent, and the excited blond it belonged to made their way over to her in a hurry, and she stood to greet them in an enthusiastic embrace.

“Zevran, you ass,” she swatted at them with a laugh once they broke away, “I was starting to think you weren’t coming!”

“Ah you know me better than that,” they chuckled in response. “Fashionably late, as always.”

“You haven’t gone and moved to Orlais on me, have you?” Isabela teased back. “Of course, I’m not even sure _those_ fuckers could handle you.”

“No, no, of course not,” Zevran replied with an obscenely wide smile and pulled up a couple more chairs from an adjacent unoccupied table. “You are quite right about that.”

_“Hope unknown, sometimes just waking is surreal, I walk right through the nameless ones…”_

A raven-haired woman in long boots and an elaborate leather skirt with a shirt that covered so little Hawke had no clue how she wasn’t freezing even in Kirkwall’s version of winter sat down in the seat beside them after hurrying over from the jukebox. Hawke did admire her aesthetic, and her apparent commitment to it, certainly.

“This is Morrigan,” Zevran said once she joined them. “Morrigan, _this_ is Isabela and…Isabela’s friends…”

Isabela quickly went around the table to offer up their introductions, and Zevran stopped her and looked at Anders inquisitively when they got to him.

“Hold on, you look…familiar,” they noted, words drawn out as though trying to place him. “Wait a minute, didn’t you once work at the Pearl?”

_“I feel them gnawing out holes, holes through flawless souls…”_

“Oh, Maker,” Anders grumbled and Isabela burst out cackling.

“Leave the poor man alone, Zev,” she tried, but it was of no use.

“I swear, I’ve seen you there,” they insisted, and Anders’s cheeks turned a soft shade of red.

“I never worked there, I just… _stayed_ for a little while,” he sighed, and Isabela desperately tried to contain herself.

“Fine, fine,” Zevran laughed as well. “But you were there that time I—”

“Zevran, please,” Morrigan cut in. “Wherever that sentence is heading, I am sure it is not a journey anyone else wishes to take with you.”

“Oh no,” Hawke interjected. “I absolutely do want to hear this.”

“‘Tis unfortunate,” Morrigan playfully huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Aha,” Zevran grinned victoriously, “I like this one. Anyway, as I was saying, were you not there the night Isabela and I decided to try out the violet wand with that lovely woman with the griffon tattoo?”

“Oh dear Maker,” Carver exclaimed, although he seemed entertained by the exchange, himself, even as he shook his head and stood up to lay claim to the next musical selection.

_“Now every face, it looks familiar, then every face, it looks away until now, everyone…”_

“Wait, so…you two…” Hawke pointed her finger back and forth between Anders and Isabela, endlessly amused by the revelation.

“Three, actually,” Zevran nearly giggled.

“It was a very, _very_ long time ago…” Anders trailed off with a sigh.

“Practically in another life,” Isabela finished for him, to which he nodded, and Merrill leaned into her affectionately.

“One of my escape attempts,” he looked at Hawke with an obvious need to explain himself. “I made it all the way to Denerim and the Pearl was just sort of _there,_ so…”

“It’s alright, love,” she assured him. “You know how my history goes, you definitely don’t need to justify yours.”

He smiled genuinely at that, but continued anyway. “It was pure coincidence that Isabela and I met again in Kirkwall. There was that weird sort of ‘I think I know you from somewhere’ look and then we just started talking, and when we figured it out it ended up evolving into a friendship.”

“That’s…actually kind of a sweet story when you think about it,” Donnic added. “Finding people in unexpected places is sort of the theme with this group, isn’t it?”

Everyone laughed at that, including Carver, who sat back down just in time, with a resounding affirmative response.

Hawke instantly stood up next to do exactly as her brother just had, and she assumed she hadn’t missed much when she returned to everyone else who’d just met them asking questions to Zevran and Morrigan.

“So are you two a thing?” Isabela cut in eagerly, and both of the newest members of their little party feigned disgust.

 _“Please,”_ Morrigan scoffed. “Although that is certainly _not_ for lack of trying on their end.”

“Can you really blame me?” Zevran winked at her, and she scowled back at them, but the joking intent was plain. “And I see _you_ have settled down, Isabela. I never thought I’d see the day!”

“You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that,” Isabela chuckled. “You’re right, though, you do know me well enough to realise it’d take someone very special, and I found her.”

_“I’ve been running from it all my lifetime. There’s nothing wrong with you, I’m searching for my right mind. Oh, you should’ve seen it, they were resting on the restless. This happened, literally, woke up and I was headless…”_

“Is that a Dalish tattoo, Zevran?” Merrill asked, noting the styled lines on the side of their face.

“Yes, it is, or at least inspired,” they nodded, looking pleased at the recognition. “My mother was Dalish. I don’t actually remember her well, neither do I know much else about her, but I got it in her honour in any case. Same for yours?”

“Yes,” she almost smiled, and she appeared to feel the same about the topic as Zevran. “I’m practicing.”

“My friend here,” Zevran gestured towards Morrigan, “has a great interest in Dalish culture and history, herself. _Some_ would argue to the extent of appropriation, but you two may be up for interesting conversation all the same.”

_“I’ma make a deal with the bad wolf so the bad wolf don’t bite no more…”_

“Maybe another time,” Merrill replied. “We could exchange information if you’d like, Morrigan. I’m always looking for new resources and if you’ve found anything I haven’t—”

 _“No one’s_ found anything you haven’t and you know it, Kitten,” Isabela interrupted with what was obviously intended to be an encouraging smile. “Nothing personal, Morrigan, she’s just the best there is when it comes to Dalish history.”

“I would love to talk further on the subject, whenever the time is good for you, of course,” Morrigan said to Merrill, apparently ignoring Isabela entirely, and grabbed her phone from a pocket in her skirt. “Are you on Facebook, by chance?”

“Yes, it’s Merrill Sabrae.” She appeared to be invested in the short exchange of information, which was something, and she nodded cheerfully when Morrigan flashed her phone in her direction. “Yes, that’s me!”

_“Motherfucker, I’ll be back from the dead soon. I’ll be watching from the centre of the hollow moon. Oh my god, I think I’ve made a mistake. Waiting patiently was waiting taking up space, we are taking up space…”_

“So how did you and Isabela meet, Zevran?” Hawke asked once Morrigan sent her friend request and put her phone away.

“Maker, we’ve known each other since we were pretty much still kids,” Zevran laughed. “We were, what, perhaps 18?”

“Oh no, I really _have_ known you that long,” Isabela chuckled. “I honestly have no idea how we met actually met at this point. For fuck’s sake, I’m 30, I can barely tell you what I did yesterday half the time. I was in Antiva for some reason or another and then we crossed paths somehow.”

“I believe you had just gotten married,” Zevran said, and Isabela reached over to them to punch their arm.

“Ah yes, of course,” she drawled out in emphasis of how irritating she found the memory. “Just one in a long series of poor life choices…”

Merrill looked up at Isabela and Hawke thought she might even say something to Zevran over the subject, but Isabela offered a soft kiss and a shake of her head. “It’s alright, Kitten, Zev’s allowed to make fun of me for that one. They were there, they know everything about everything that happened, and for as much as it _pains_ me to admit it I’m not honestly sure if I’d be here without them.”

“You’re welcome, indeed,” Zevran grinned at Merrill.

_“The earth below is above my feet when the clock is laughing at me when copy cats and lazy brats are the last thing I want to see. No, my enemy is a friend of mine in a friendly place to be seen. Hey, you know I’d run away for a couple years just to prove I’ve never been free…”_

“What about you, Morrigan?” Isabela asked. “What’s your story?”

“My story is that I should be back home with my son, but _someone_ had to convince me leave him with his father to take an impromptu road trip with them in the middle of the night, and now I am _here,_ of all places,” she laughed shortly through her air of bitterness, from which she probably only meant a small fraction of what she displayed.

“Oh come on, _you_ were the one who was complaining about your mother trying to see you,” Zevran smiled. _“I_ was only looking to help.”

Morrigan visibly tensed at the mention, but she only took a second to exhale loudly and respond, “Right you are.”

She glanced around for a moment like she was afraid someone was watching, and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from another pocket, joining Hawke, Varric, Carver, and Isabela in sharing the table’s ashtray.

“Officially, I’ve quit,” she explained. “Or I do during less stressful periods, I suppose. I never let Kieran see it no matter what, at the very least.”

_“Baby’s on fire, better throw her in the water…”_

Hawke felt Anders turn to wrap an arm around her, and smiled and leaned her head back against him. She’d picked that song hoping she’d get some kind of reaction from him, and she knew he knew it.

Morrigan’s phone rang and she jumped up when she caught it, automatically rising to take it and then moving towards the door when she answered. “Well, well, what have we here? Someone is up so _very_ far past his bedtime…”

Aveline looked at her own phone at Morrigan’s comment, and she did not appear to like what she found, which prompted Hawke to do the same. It was nearly 2:00am, which was the Hanged Man's closing time anyway, a realisation the rest of the table all seemed to follow their way into.

“Alright, we were a _bit_ more than _fashionably_ late, then, fair enough,” Zevran smirked and Isabela rolled her eyes.

_“Photographers snip, snap. Take your time, she’s only burning. This kind of experience is necessary for her learning. If you’d be my flotsam, I could be half the man I used to. They said you were hot stuff, and that’s what baby’s been reduced to…”_

All at once the group moved to collect themselves and their things, to say goodbye to Norah and Corff, and then to each other.

“Are you coming home tonight?” Isabela whispered to Merrill, and Hawke’s heart broke a little when Merrill shook her head to say no and Isabela hung her own head against Merrill’s when she pulled her in close, so close, yet so solemnly. Hawke looked away, knew she was not intended to be part of such a fragile, intimate moment, but she didn’t think Isabela looked like she was ever going to let Merrill out of her grasp and Hawke hoped for them both that she might figure out a way to manage just that.

Only a few seconds later, however, out of the corner of her eye Hawke saw Isabela grab Varric’s attention, and after a very brief and very hushed exchange, she simply waved goodbye to everyone while he removed a key from its ring, and when he handed it to her she immediately ran off in the direction of the entrance hall to the upstairs apartments.

Merrill, at least, was able to make the rounds one by one, but each farewell was rushed, hugs but no words, and then she left to make her own way back to the clinic. It had never even occurred to Hawke before that Merrill might have her own car, as this was the first time she’d ever seen the two of them travel separately.

Varric went over to Zevran next and told them which way to go to get to his apartment. “She can buzz you in. Tell your friend, too. Isabela’s already claimed the couch, but I’m sure you can make space.”

Zevran offered their thanks and said goodnight to the rest of them before going outside to inform Morrigan of the situation.

“Is she okay?” Anders asked Varric just before Hawke was about to, and he nodded.

“She just wants to be able to do more than she can, you know how it is,” he shrugged. “So we’ll have our little sleepover, probably just get shitfaced or whatever, and eventually this whole fucked up thing with Merrill will blow over and they’ll be as disgusting as ever.”

“I hope you’re right, Varric,” Anders noted, and Varric chuckled lightly.

“I am,” he said with more confidence than he should possibly have been allowed to have. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Blondie.”

Hawke was the only person left who didn’t have to work the next day, as Lirene’s would be closed the remainder of the week for Satinalia, so the desire to clear out was much greater for everyone else and further goodbyes were hurried accordingly.

Eventually Hawke and Anders made it home, more exhausted than they’d realised before they got in.

She barely had the energy to make it out of her clothes, and she only managed to throw on a sleep shirt before she decided that if pants were not within arm’s reach then they were not worth it.

She flopped down hard onto the bed and wrestled with the blankets before Anders got in to join her, and they were quickly joined by Pounce, who settled himself at their feet once Anders had his arms around her.

“Do you really have to open the clinic tomorrow?” She asked through the fog of rapidly approaching sleep, and she heard him laugh behind her.

“You know that I do, love,” he whispered in the same voice she’d been reduced to. “It’ll be emergencies only on Thursday, though, don’t worry. I’m all yours as long as there’s no crises.”

“You’re all mine, anyway,” she mumbled with a smile, exhaustion and the buzz of all the alcohol she’d consumed throughout the night catching up more and more by the second.

“I am,” he replied, muffled by his lips against her hair.

“Mmm,” she hummed and tried to press herself closer to him. “I love you.”

She wasn’t sure she’d ever get enough of saying that to him, of being able to say it so freely despite their rough beginnings, despite themselves. She adored that they’d decided to count even those days as theirs, though, as it simply felt right somehow. No matter how hard they’d both made things, no matter how hard they’d tried to fight their feelings, those days did still belong to them, made sense to who they were, made sense to this path she hoped like she’d never hoped before would have no foreseeable end.

“I love you, too,” he drawled back, and she knew he felt the same, and she felt so content falling into how much she could also never tire of hearing it in return.

The world around them would never be stable, would never remain calm for long, but there was solace like no other in his arms, peace she’d never known against his touch.

Her eyes closed and his hold tightened, and Pounce got up, readjusted, and laid back down.

No matter what happened, no matter how much things could and would fall apart, there was a profound serenity here. She loved so much and was loved just as strongly, and a universe of warmth and affection regularly opened up inside her when she remembered to remember, to think on all she had instead of all she'd lost. Friends that became her true family, a biological family that became less burdensome, and this.

This was where she was most whole, and she concentrated as hard as she could on that feeling as she drifted further off, to that safe place of calm. To that safe of healing and acceptance. To that safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Morrigan by request of [my Varric](http://kayth1.tumblr.com). Zevran's little jab at Morrigan back there because _honestly._ I love my beautiful witch queen but come the fuck on...
> 
> And yeah, noticing that I keep doing it anyway, every once in a while a chapter really does just need to end like this, with some nice reflection that this fic isn't _actually_ All Angst All the Time, even for as often as that is still a thing, heh.
> 
> And of course, more Velvet Goldmine because [little_abyss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss) and [un-shit-yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself) screaming about it reminded me it hadn't come up in a while. Also just because Velvet Goldmine. :)


	50. Tiny Blessings of Relief, Beautiful Breaths of Fresh Air from the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a few mentions of character deaths and one passing reference to alcohol abuse
> 
> Honestly, though, this chapter is just a giant disgusting fluff-fest (and with as much See What I Did There as possible). Beware of cavities, seriously. I mean, though, it's the 50th and that improperly-timed-but-who-cares Satinalia setup was already a thing, plus the main plot _is_ currently still riding that angst train so...this just felt like the right thing to do. :)
> 
>  _Also,_ even though it doesn't get properly used yet and that will still happen sometime later, the song that inspired me to write this whole damn thing to begin with finally gets a nod! Again, it's the 50th and there was adequate setup so these precious nerds get another break, and a substantial one at that.
> 
> ["Little Wonder" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/UT2oqEHwvUY)   
>  ["Looking for Satellites" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/t2FUhqM85bM)   
>  ["Battle for Britain (the Letter)" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/6RJnCi2yldc)   
>  ["Seven Years in Tibet" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/84RBZb8OxT0)   
>  ["Dead Man Walking" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/z3qm2tTD_oQ)   
>  ["Telling Lies" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/Gh44g0zASaU)   
>  ["The Last Thing You Should Do" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/E0wutxYSHM8)   
>  ["I'm Afraid of Americans" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/t-rQTrj6JmM)   
>  ["Law (Earthlings on Fire)" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/ddn-5uKH6MU)   
>  _(or, you know,[literally the entire album](https://youtu.be/r4GiqEHisf4))_

Hawke awoke on Satinalia to the buzzing of her phone and the alert that she already had five missed calls from Lirene.

“What the fuck?” She asked groggily to no one, and she felt Anders stir beside her. She blinked a few times to try to pull herself out of her sleepy haze and then picked up her phone to return the calls.

“Maker’s breath, I’ve been down here for an age and a half,” Lirene laughed, far too chipperly for the fact that it was still morning. Late morning, in fact almost noon, but morning nonetheless. “If you don’t mind, dear, I’ll need one of you to let me in.”

“Alright, alright,” she mumbled. “Give me a minute, I need to find pants.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Lirene chuckled.

“Not like that,” Hawke sighed. “Just…give me a minute.”

“Mmphf?” Anders attempted to form words and failed spectacularly, but she was too grateful he let himself sleep in that she couldn’t even bring herself to try to poke fun at him.

Hawke crawled her way out of bed and Anders made an adorable whining sound upon her absence, and she grabbed the first pair of pants she spotted on the floor, which happened to be his.

“Lirene’s here for some reason, so you should probably make yourself presentable, love,” Hawke smiled when he finally opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I will also love you forever if you can put on some coffee while I’m down there.”

“You know,” he smirked, “I was sort of banking on you doing that regardless.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she teased. “That’s my plan, too, don’t worry. Just sayin’, though…”

Anders sat up and stretched his arms out over his head, and she grabbed her keys and went downstairs to let Lirene up.

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke let out when she opened the door to the first floor and was instantly greeted by Lirene waiting directly outside it with a giant tree propped precariously up against a wall. “I don’t know whether to be appreciative or offended that you knew I wasn’t actually going to get one myself.”

She smiled through the loud yawn that followed, and Lirene laughed and shook her head.

“I _also_ have no idea how you expect to get that thing upstairs,” Hawke continued, and her smile didn’t let up. “Honestly, how in the Void did you even get that inside to start with?”

“I had help,” Lirene chuckled, and Hawke figured it was a safe assumption that anyone who might have been floating around the clinic that day was probably in on the plan. “Now that you mention it, though…”

“Have you been up there?” Hawke chuckled. “That thing is about twice as wide as those halls.”

“It has been a while,” Lirene said as she looked around. “I guess I’ll just have to set it up down here.”

“I’ll go get Anders,” Hawke sighed playfully, and when Lirene nodded she went back upstairs to grab him.

A few minutes later she reappeared, Anders and three cups of coffee in tow.

“Thank you, dear,” Lirene grinned and took the one he offered her, and without a thought she set it down atop the stack of chairs and grabbed the tree stand she’d set down in a different corner, and then Anders did so as well before he went to help when she moved to pick up the tree itself.

“I’ve got it,” she assured him, and Hawke could only stand back and giggle at what was happening between sips of coffee that slowly brought her more fully into the waking world, and Anders stepped back to reclaim his own cup in an attempt to do the same.

“Should I even ask?” Anders laughed to himself, and Lirene shook her head.

“Oh come on, where’s your holiday spirit? I know you’ve never had one of these before,” she replied, and they all knew that was itself her answer.

They spent the better part of an hour setting it up when all was said and done, elaborate decorations and all. Tinsel, sparkling round ornaments in every colour imaginable, and cat-shaped lights that had Anders practically squealing in delight. Hawke wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him seem so happy, and that made getting out of bed when she did and even so with little caffeine barely carrying her through that time more than worthwhile.

Of course Lirene had gifts for them, as well, which she made a big deal of placing beneath the tree, especially given that they likely wouldn’t be seeing it again the rest of the day, before they were permitted to open them, and she picked herself up a seat to watch them as soon as it was ready.

Anders opened his first, the absolute picture of the quintessential kid on Satinalia morning sitting on the floor next to the tree to unwrap it, and he immediately slapped his hand over his mouth with tears in his eyes once he pulled out the book within the box he’d just torn the paper from and opened it up to the first page.

“Maker’s breath, Lirene, how did you…” Anders couldn’t even finish his question, moved past the point of words, and Hawke went to peek over his shoulder to see what could have sparked such an instantaneously and profoundly emotional response.

“I know a lot of people who know a lot of people,” Lirene replied softly. “Nathaniel says hi, by the way, and he’s glad to hear you’re doing well.”

“Oh my goodness, I…I don’t even know what to say,” Anders added quietly and willed himself to turn the page, and Hawke saw that it wasn’t a book per se, but a photo album, and that every single image was of a long, thin, and clearly very well taken care of orange tabby cat. Some of the pictures also included people she did not recognise, but the cat remained the focal point in all of them. “Thank you. Thank you _so much_ for this, I… _wow_ …”

“Anders, is that…” Hawke started when the realisation hit, and she found herself become flooded by feeling on his behalf. “Is that Ser Pounce-a-Lot I?”

“It is,” he whispered and started pointing at different photographs and flipping through further pages. “That’s Nathaniel and his sister Delilah, they’re the ones I gave him to whenever I left, and that’s…Maker, is that Kristoff? _Wow,_ he’s aging well. And there’s Aura, Kristoff’s wife. That’s Sigrun, you’d love her, she’s such a sweetheart. Velanna—oh, I bet _she’d_ love to meet Merrill—and Oghren and…everyone, wow. Holy shit, is that Elissa? Oh…oh wow. They’re all still friends there, too, that’s wonderful…”

“They’re also all on Facebook,” Lirene noted. “I was instructed to tell you that, as well.”

Anders just kept going through each page, each picture, in such awe of the level of thoughtfulness and love which went into such a meaningful gift, that same awe Hawke had in her eyes when she looked back up at Lirene, so thankful that she could have done something like that for him.

“Aren’t you going to open yours, dear?” Lirene smiled at Hawke, who was so taken with watching Anders she almost forgot she had one, too.

She sat down beside him and picked up hers, which was much smaller than Anders’s, and carefully began to unwrap it. The box beneath looked like the kind that would be used to store jewellery, and she opened it slowly, curiously, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to react when she saw what was inside.

It was a necklace, the pendant small but astonishing, a pewter profile of a dragon with a gloriously bright amethyst eye, and there was something so familiar about it, something that made her heart feel as if it might burst within her chest, but she couldn’t quite place it. She noticed Anders had turned to watch her reaction, as well, and she suspected he knew something she didn’t in regards to her present.

“I _know_ this,” she said mostly to herself as she pulled it from the box and held it up, momentarily mesmerised by the way it caught the light as it moved, and then her hand closed over it when it occurred to her where she’d seen its resemblance before. “Oh, oh my…my father had one _just_ like it. I can’t believe I forgot about it, I just…I haven’t seen it in…Maker, you know what, I actually think he was buried in the thing. He had such a fascination with fantasy lore in general but _dragons_ …fuck, that man and his dragons. I’ve never told either of you that, though, I’m sure…”

“No, love, you haven’t,” Anders smiled, and although she didn’t have the same level of reaction as he had, she knew she had to be obvious in the feeling washing over her, she couldn’t even try to picture what the two of them must have looked like sitting there while Lirene looked on at them from her seat, assumed she was better off not knowing.

“I get around,” Lirene chuckled, and she appeared to be so pleased with the reactions they each had, and she grinned widely even as she rose to stand and ready her farewells. “I should let you two have the rest of your day, so…”

Hawke and Anders both found their way to their feet, and Hawke nearly rushed Lirene when she moved to hug her. “Thank you so much. For everything.”

“It’s just so lovely to see you both look so happy,” Lirene stated matter-of-factly and patted Hawke’s shoulders when they let go.

Anders followed her lead, and he held on for much longer, so clearly pleased to have his first proper holiday off to such a start, childlike wonder still in his eyes when he finally broke away and they all went to collect themselves.

“Andraste’s tits, more coffee,” Hawke huffed once they moved into the stairwell, just the two of them again, the gifts they’d already received and their empty cups in hand.

“So, dragons?” Anders smirked at her as she turned towards him and leaned into the kitchen counter while a fresh pot brewed.

“As I’ve mentioned, he was really fucking cool,” she grinned. “Good music, dragons, sarcasm like no other…honestly, though, even the fucking _purple_ …did you know anything about this, love?”

“Like she said,” he shrugged playfully, “she gets around.”

She couldn’t stop smiling. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really enjoyed a holiday like this, and it was still so early yet. Of course she was herself a child once and in those times it was always exciting simply by default, simply because it was considered special and she got presents and that was enough, but then it was wholly different. Its meaning was still because others granted it meaning, but it was no longer because they told her it was there, but instead because they actively showed her. It was provided willingly, not just assumed to be accepted on principle as it had when she was younger and could yet allow herself such a thing. It was strange to hold adult sentience and such Satinalia joy at the same time—it was certainly never something she’d previously have believed possible, and having it feel like magic.

“I wonder where she even found this, though,” Hawke mused aloud, staring at the dragon pendant even while she set it down to pour her coffee, and she felt Anders come up behind her, his nose against her neck and an almost audible smile along his lips.

“She had it custom made, I know that much; I think it’s mostly 3D-printed, actually,” he told her, and his arms made their way around her, nearly causing her to spill her drink, which he must have noticed since he instantly let go and backed away.

She handed him the pot once her mug was filled to the brim. “But how would she even have known, I mean…I suppose someone would have to have described it to her but I…I know damn well she didn’t talk to my mother and…Carver? Wait, was it fucking _Carver?”_

“Maaaaaaaaybe,” he answered with a smug smirk while he poured his own cup, and she shook her head in a feeling that wasn’t exactly disbelief but somehow something more than standard surprise.

“Fuck,” she exhaled. “I guess I owe that little cocksucker a world of thanks between this and Donnic and… _fuck.”_

Anders chuckled lightly at her still ever-growing awe, as though both of them had the same odd restoration of faith in humanity that would certainly prove to be fleeting, yet was beautifully overwhelming in the moment all the same.

“Speaking of which,” he grinned and started towards the main room, and she followed happily.

They’d set up the record player beside the television, and he immediately picked out a disc from the box on the floor by the stand, what remained of her father’s collection that she hadn’t even started looking through since she got it. He pulled out David Bowie’s _Earthling,_ which was also a favourite of hers, and looked positively radiant when he put it on.

_“Stinky weather, fat shaking hands, dopey morning doc, grumpy gnomes, little wonder then, little wonder, you little wonder, little wonder, you…”_

She moved to the couch and onto her coffee, smiling and humming just as he was.

_“Big screen dolls, tits and explosions, sleepy time, bashful but nude, little wonder then, little wonder…”_

It was already almost 1:30pm by that point, and her phone buzzed again from the pocket of Anders’s pajama pants, revealing a text from an apparently very nervous Donnic.

_We’re heading to my parents’ in about an hour, what should I do? Wait until after dinner or ask her now? Do you still think I should ask today? Help?_

“Oh no,” she laughed out loud once she read it, and she unapologetically passed it to Anders so he could see what had her so amused.

“Andraste’s knickers, those two,” he laughed as well. “What are you going to tell him?”

_“Little wonder then, little wonder, you little wonder, little wonder, you…”_

She stared at the screen for a second before texting back. “I told him to do it first. Get it out of the way. Maker knows that’ll probably make it easier on them both, fucking nerds…”

“Says you,” Anders smiled, and he began to lean backwards into the plush of the couch but quickly changed his mind and moved forward instead.

_“Sending me so far away, so far away, so far away, so far away, so far away, so far away, so far away, so, so far away…”_

“Oh,” she responded to her phone going off once again, and she beamed upon reading Donnic’s reply. “He said he’s gonna go for it right before they leave. Oh Maker, I bet you anything he’s giving himself a pep talk while she gets ready, oh, that’s so cute. Anyway, he’ll keep me posted. Like he has anything to worry about, honestly…”

“So,” Anders started after a moment, his eyes full of warmth when he turned to her. “I’m almost afraid to ask but, well, do you have any big plans for the day?”

She chuckled and shook her head, and she could’ve sworn he breathed out a sigh of relief. “No, love, I just want to be with you. My mother invited us over and I did tell her maybe but…I suppose there’s always next year. Perhaps. In any case, it doesn’t matter because I don’t want to go anywhere today. All I want is _this_ right now. I assume that sounds good to you, too?”

“Definitely.”

_“Little wonder then, little wonder, you little wonder, little wonder, you…”_

He moved off of the couch and picked up both of their empty mugs, and he waved her away when she positioned herself to stand to join him. She had thought about trying to plan something elaborate early on, but when it came down to it she knew she didn’t need to, knew it might even be better if she didn’t, and she was glad to have that confirmed, glad to have what they did and even moreso with every second as it went.

_“Nowhere, shampoo, TV, combat, boyzone, slim tie, showdown, can’t stop…”_

She set her phone on the table in anticipation for any possible follow-up texts from either Donnic or Aveline, and Anders reappeared with their refills almost immediately after.

_“Where do we go from here? There’s something in the sky, spinning in the light, spinning and far away…”_

“So, umm,” she spoke up after another long drink of coffee, “I guess we should…”

“Yeah, alright,” he smiled anxiously, mirroring her own mind.

_“Looking for satellites, looking for satellites. Where do we go to now? There’s nothing in our eyes, as lonely as a moon, misty and far away…”_

There was a terribly tiny closet in the slim corridor behind the couch, just across from the bedroom, wherein the space between was so small both doors could not be opened at once, and it was where both of them seemed to have decided to “hide” their gifts from each other. At least they’d both made sure to wrap everything privately just about as soon as they bought them, so the surprises would still be surprises even though everything sat together in an area they had both looked in time and again recently.

They went one at a time to pick through the stash of boxes and pick out what was the other’s for them to take back out to the main room, each of them stacking things on and around the table upon their individual returns.

_“Nowhere, shampoo, TV, combat, boyzone, slim tie, showdown, can’t stop looking for satellites, looking for satellites…”_

Anders’s gifts to Hawke were all wrapped with newspaper, where hers were all encased in ridiculously sparkly silver paper and ribbons. She worried that she might have overthought it, or maybe that what he got for her was so good it didn’t warrant fancy trimming, but when they looked back up at each other she saw the same sorts of thoughts swimming behind his eyes, and they both burst out laughing when they caught their racing minds, mimicking each other’s.

“I had help,” they told each other in unison, prompting another burst of laughter loud enough to wake Pounce, who was curled up against the corner of the wall near the television.

_“My, my, the time do fly when it’s in another pair of hands…”_

She took in a deep breath and picked up one of the smaller boxes, the one she knew held the earring Lirene had suggested, and nervously handed it to him. He pulled off a bright red ribbon and then set down the box to tie it around his wrist, an act which caught her off guard and filled her with a pride she could not name, as though it somehow solidified how much of the other they each always carried with them anyway.

He started to carefully strip away the wrapping underneath but then stopped at the buzzing of Hawke’s phone, both of them too curious about what might be unfolding on the other end given the assumption that it was almost certainly going to be one of two people texting.

“Yes!” Hawke exclaimed cheerfully when she opened up the message from Aveline.

_YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS, DIDN’T YOU?_  
_[attached: 1 image]_

She opened up the picture to reveal an incredibly ecstatic Aveline holding up her left hand, adorned with the ring Donnic had shown them at the Hanged Man, and again Hawke passed her phone to Anders.

“That’s wonderful,” he noted with utmost sincerity. This was, without a doubt, a good day, and she was sure nothing could take that from them, from any of them, by that point.

“Okay, okay, back to you,” Hawke gestured anxiously towards the box he had started on so he quickly went back to it, and his face lit up once he had it opened.

“Maker, that’s _gorgeous,_ thank you,” he smiled, and he automatically moved to put it in, just as she had hoped. He struggled for a moment with the hole, which was still pierced but hadn’t been used in so long, but it didn’t take him much time to find it, and she was thrilled to see the way it sparkled when he brushed his hair back, the way it highlighted his eyes every bit as well as she had anticipated.

_“Don’t be so forlorn, it’s just the payoff, it’s the rain before the storm. On a better day I’ll take you by the hand and I’ll walk you through the doors…”_

“Fuck, love, that looks…that looks really good,” she said without meaning to, and she involuntarily bit her lip with her gaze.

“Oh, really?” He smirked back at her and then they could only smile wider, both of their faces taking in all the intense expression of the other’s.

“Mm, yes.”

_“My, my, but time do fly when it’s in another pair of pants and illusion I will be, for I’ve never been a sinner, la-di-da…”_

“Alright, well,” Anders sighed and selected a box from his end to hand over to her.

She peeled off the paper to reveal a sturdy box, and she eagerly removed the top to find a thick leather bracelet, actually more akin to a cuff, with a multitude of small stars intricately carved out of it.

“I love it,” she told him with a smile while she inspected it, and his cheeks flushed when she turned it far enough to reach where it clasped. Just to the side of the large snaps at the end was a thin metal plate with something inscribed into it, and she could feel how he watched her when she held it up closer to read.

It was a short sequence of numbers that she found etched into it, and she immediately recognised them as the date of that first night she’d slept over.

“Anders, I…”

“I assumed that’s the one we’re counting, right?” He asked sheepishly, so shyly anticipatory, so uncertain. “I figured the _first_ first time we met wasn’t _quite_ what we were going for, or even your first time doing Kirkwall Crew, but I, umm, I felt like you might like the thought, at least, I don’t know, I…”

She moved over to him at lightning speed and inadvertently dropped the cuff on the table to grasp his face when she pushed hers into it, and she spent a good minute just kissing him again and again and again, the only way she could think to express how beautiful she truly found it.

“I love it,” she said again after she pulled away so they could breathe, so they could keep going. “Anders, love, it’s fucking _perfect.”_

The relief he felt was plain as day, and she made sure to pick it back up to rest it by her coffee cup, where she’d previously set down the necklace from Lirene.

“Maker, it’s my turn again, isn’t it?” She laughed once she had her things in order, and she selected another box from her pile to hand him.

It was the hilariously sacrilegious cat-Andraste necklace, which she had placed atop a t-shirt depicting another cat dressed as a wizard that said “Meowgic” on it; another thing she wasn’t sure he’d wear, but she’d still thought of him the second she’d seen it and therefore had to purchase it nonetheless.

He laughed when he opened that one and retrieved its contents, and she quickly spoke up to explain herself.

“I don’t expect you to wear them, don’t worry, I just…I mean, obviously you popped into my head when I saw them,” she noted, and he laughed even more.

“Oh, absolutely, love, I understand,” he grinned. “I’m hanging this on the door, definitely, and this…I _will_ find an excuse to wear this, don’t worry.”

“Okay, good,” she sighed, however still worried. “You can sleep in it, too, it doesn’t really matter, I just knew you _had_ to have it.”

“I really did, though,” he responded enthusiastically, and the tension wore away from her once more. “Okay…alright, then…”

He grabbed another box and passed it to her, and again she excitedly unwrapped it and opened it up.

_“I praise to you, nothing ever goes away…”_

It was another bracelet. Or, more accurately, a series of bracelets. This time they were all thick silver bands that didn’t wrap all the way around, each one bearing more inscriptions, all words with more stars decorating any space around the text, all of them different, and she read each aloud as she went through them.

“‘A cigarette tracing a ladder to the stars…’ ‘You are made of ivory and gold…’ ‘We set out to change the world, ended up changing ourselves…’ ‘I will mangle your mind…’ ‘The curves of your lips rewrite history…’” Every last one of them had a quote from Velvet Goldmine, every last one of them a continuing homage to that night, that night which—in retrospect—they both must have realised their lives were in fact changing, even if neither of them had been anywhere near ready to admit it, to accept it. “Fuck, love…these are _spectacular,_ thank you…”

There were tears in her eyes and she had no shame in it. She delicately ran her fingers over the engravings, eagerly taking it all in before she brought herself to move on to her next turn.

“You like them? That was okay?” He was grinning even as he asked and she was sure he already knew the answer, but it was so endearing that he had to ask all the same, despite knowing from where the question came, a place she understood so well.

“Maker, yes,” she beamed back at him. “They’re amazing, honestly, wow…”

_“I praise to you, nothing ever goes…”_

She went back onto him and his next gift at that, and the following box he took from her was so large she’d had to prop it against her side of the couch, had to stretch herself back over it to reach, and she passed it over vigilantly, maintaining her best effort to be mindful of its somewhat fragile nature. It was probably the one she was most anxious to give him, but it had come from an idea Lirene had mentioned in passing. She hadn’t been sure if it had been a serious thought, if it was one she should’ve taken into any account during her holiday shopping, but she did and it was then time to see if such a risk might pay off.

_“He swivels his head, tears his eyes from the screen…”_

He fumbled a little with the paper that time, had a bit more difficulty than she had planned for with its size, but he figured it out, angles and adjustments and all, to unveil an acoustic guitar.

“Holy shit,” he chuckled once he had it out completely. “I’ve been wanting to learn for ages, how—”

_“My brain falling up through the years ‘til I swivel back ‘round then I fly, fly, fly, losing breath from the water then I’m gone, gone, gone…”_

“Three guesses,” she answered with a smile, and he nodded into the obvious realisation. “I know it’s not the greatest and I’ll admit that it _is_ second hand so I hope everything’s alright with it, but—”

“Love,” he smiled, “it’s wonderful.”

_“And I’m gone, gone, gone, now I’m older than movies. Let me dance away, now I’m wiser than dreams. Let me fly, fly, fly when I’m touching tomorrow, and I know who’s there when silhouettes fall…”_

He gave it a few off-key strums to test it out and then shook his head. “Hmm, I think Fenris knows how to play. I’ll have to talk to him…”

“Good idea, love,” she smiled, and he moved the guitar over his side of the couch, making a point to look around for Pounce, who had settled back down into his corner, and Hawke chuckled to herself when she spotted him, too. “Maybe I’ll wait to give him _his_ presents…”

“You got something for Pounce?” Anders’s eyes lit up when he looked back at her to ask, and she only shrugged.

“Of course! I couldn’t leave him out, now could I?” She’d never even had to think about whether or not the cat would be included, and she would certainly never have guessed he would react in such a way to something that seemed so natural. “I mean, it’s just a bag of catnip toys, but still.”

“Maker, I am so fucking lucky to have you,” he said in an almost playful tone, but it was so undeniably authentic she felt herself melt against his voice all that much more.

“The feeling is mutual, believe me,” she smiled softly, but firmly enunciating her sincerity.

“Fuck, it’s my turn again, isn’t it? Well, umm,” he began nervously, and she noticed he had two more small boxes remaining to give her, while her side had only one. He handed them each over, and she unwrapped them in succession, electing to open them up only after she had stripped the paper from both.

_“And I’m gone like I’m dancing on angels, and I’m gone through a crack in the past…”_

“I realise now one of these could be misinterpreted, especially with what I’m about to tell you,” he added cautiously. “They’re totally innocuous, though, I swear, they just looked like something you would like…”

She looked them over, both of them jewellery, and the pieces inside were unspeakably gorgeous. One silver ring held a beautiful iridescent stone shaped like a star, and the other was a necklace, a large dark green gem accented with gold, which she knew was yet another Velvet Goldmine reference. She felt her eyes welling up on her again, such profound sentimentality, how that had meant so much more to them than either could possibly have known when it happened that it ever would.

“I do,” she confirmed. “They’re beautiful, Anders, thank you.”

“Alright, good,” he breathed out. “I just…I know things have already moved rather quickly between us so I worried for a second there…”

“Don’t,” she smiled. “You’re fine, I promise. More than fine, honestly. I _adore_ these, love. And you know, maybe someday…”

“Really?” He looked almost amused by the implication, and the flash of confusion she felt at his expression must have been evident. “I mean, is that something you think you might want eventually?”

“With you, I can see it,” she nodded. “At least I hope that’s where we’re heading somewhere down the road. It doesn’t have to be official but I—wait, what’s the thing you were going to tell me?”

_“Gorgeous girls are bound to meet, to talk of stars and kings and feet, through the chromosomes of space and time…”_

“I, umm, well…” He stopped to clear his throat and she watched him carefully, almost excited for what could have him in such a fuss after everything. “I was talking to Aveline and she sort of figured out herself that I don’t really want you to go home, that I want _this_ to be your home and she was reluctant to talk to the property manager about it but she also said she was thinking about asking Donnic to move in for Satinalia, which I’m _sure_ is going to be a thing now, so basically she came to the conclusion that as long as _someone_ is paying that share of the rent then what they don’t know…”

“Yes,” she nearly shouted, and she leaned forward to touch his face again. “Yes, fuck, Anders…I can’t explain why it feels so right but this, well, this _is_ home and I want to stay here with you forever, yes.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, and she brushed against his cheek with her thumb in an attempt to reassure him. “I mean, I know for people…people like _us,_ well, you know as well as I do how prone to impulsivity we can be and I just didn’t want to assume…I know, I _know_ it hasn’t actually been that long and everything’s sort of been a whirlwind but I—”

“Love, love,” Hawke cut in gently. “Love, it’s okay, I understand, believe me but…I am sure, alright? I promise you, Anders, I fucking promise I’m sure.”

_“Ooh-ah visionary, ooh-ah visionary, feels like something’s gonna happen this year…”_

“Alright,” he sighed, taking a moment to breathe, relaxed, his reservations allayed. “Okay. Okay.”

_“Shadows fall in shrinking smiles, see me poised at the happy games standing in the mouth of all that’s pure. Come straggling in your tattered remnants, you come to me with tears and blame. I’m your future, ask tomorrow, I am the end…”_

“Besides, if I fuck it up we both know Aveline’ll take me back in without a second thought,” she teased, but his eyes crinkled at her in response. “I’m kidding, love. I won’t lose you. I can’t.”

He was the one who moved first that time, to surge forward and claim her mouth, to trace his hands along her shoulders, to physically smother her in affection just as she longed to do for him.

She emitted a small, breathy whine when he released her once again, but she took the last box she had for him and presented it after he did.

It was another bracelet, and she knew where all his help in that regard had come from because she had taken advantage of it as well, had taken every little suggestion or simple thought Lirene had offered, on purpose or otherwise, to heart, and she was oddly elated by how much she and Anders had followed similar paths from that point, because of course they did.

His was silver and in the same open style as the comparable ones he had given her, but much wider, necessary to make room for its design, which was much more elaborate. It was adorned with engraved stars and crescent moons, and the inscription read, “Oh no, love, you’re not alone no matter what or who you’ve been, no matter when or where you’ve seen. All the knives seem to lacerate your brain; I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain. You’re not alone.”

It was his turn to be moved to tears by a gift again, the first time in their exchange, or at least the first time it was so openly apparent. “Trista, I…”

“It makes me think of you every time I hear it,” she explained, the words from one of her favourite songs, one that had changed its meaning to her entirely from knowing him. “Do you like it?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” he answered quietly, his voice laced with unadulterated love and appreciation. “It’s amazing, love… _you_ are amazing…”

It was perfect. Everything was perfect. It was more than she could possibly have hoped for, so purely them. It was theirs, it was them at their best, at their happiest, their most at ease. She loved every single moment of it, and she never wanted to see its end, but she found solace in how early in the day it yet was, how much of this they had left to enjoy. They needed the break, such an astounding remedy for all that surrounded them, really for themselves. All the heart there with them, then, though, and she knew that was their essence. That no matter what, this was who they were to each other. That no matter what, at least this was even so much as possible, and she revelled in it.

“There is one other thing,” she spoke up through their shared reverie, through the blissful entrancement that was just them, there, sharing in each other and all the emotion that came with. “It’s not really a gift necessarily, or I suppose even for you exactly but for, well…for _us,_ if you know what I mean, it’s…love, do you remember a couple of weeks ago when we were eating ramen for like six days straight because I was miserably broke and I couldn’t explain why?”

He nodded, and she waited another second for further questioning that did not come, and so she continued. “I wanted to wait until today to tell you, but I _did_ have a reason. That was, well, that was because I’d donated 100 sovereigns to the Collective Underground. Lirene told me about them and I just…I _had to.”_

“Please, love,” he started the very second she finished her thought, _“please_ tell me you didn’t use your name.”

“I didn’t,” she assured. “All I gave them were the letters K and B. I thought you might appreciate that.”

“Maker, where did I find you?” So much light in his eyes, more than she’d ever seen before, and it was so immeasurably gorgeous.

_“Save the last dance for me, catch the last bus with me, give the last kiss to me…”_

“I believe that would be in your clinic, presumably being hauled inside by a very tall redhead and drunk off my ass,” she teased with a smirk.

“Okay, fine,” he exhaled in feigned exasperation and rolled his eyes at her. “How, though, still. Andraste’s tits, love, you are _perfect.”_

“Whatever you say, dear,” she chuckled and brushed back her hair, a sudden moment of self-consciousness she couldn’t explain.

“Okay, you know what,” Anders grinned wide and stood up, “I think I have one more thing…”

She watched him walk away, no idea what to expect, and he returned a few minutes later awkwardly holding an disheveled cardboard box in front of him, rested against his hips while he leaned himself against the wall behind the couch.

“Why don’t you come over here and open it?” His lips curled deviously and she suspected she knew exactly what he was doing, that if she was correct then she also knew exactly who it was that would’ve put him up to it, but she did as she was asked regardless.

_“I’m afraid of the world, I’m afraid I can’t help it, I’m afraid I can’t…”_

She lifted the flaps along the top of the box in his hands, and just as she had guessed, he poked through a carefully cut out hole in the side.

“Varric?” She bit back a laugh, and he let the box slide off and fall to the ground with his shrug.

“Who else?” He chuckled, and his hands moved to the waistband of his pants to keep them from slipping farther down, but he did not pull them up. “Still, though, I mean…”

He bit his lip and she stood on her toes to nip at the ear that then made use of its piercing, and then he took her hand to lead her back to bed.

***

_“With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground…”_

The music carried outside well enough and Anders tapped his fingers in time along the cold metal of the landing from beside her, where she sat down in her usual spot on the fire escape with a cigarette in hand.

It was flurrying, scattered bursts of snow trickling down over their shoulders, the chill in the air making it impossible to discern between breath and smoke.

“We should probably start dinner soon, love,” she noted. They’d gone grocery shopping throughout the week, picked up a few things here and there specifically for the occasion. Nothing fancy, nothing too typically special, but enough for them, enough to be theirs.

“Maker, what time is it?” He glanced at his phone and looked back to her. “Well, then. Still really early, actually. Although, well, shit, I guess we didn’t even get through a whole album yet, did we?”

“Huh,” she replied, almost wistfully. “Would you want to do it that way, anyway? Then we can just spend the rest of the night curled up on the couch doing absolutely fuck all, and I don’t know about you but that honestly sounds fucking amazing.”

“It really does, yeah,” he agreed. “I’m really happy this worked out.”

“Yeah,” she sighed out with a cloud of smoke that never seemed to end, intermingling with the fog that remained from Anders’s comment. “I couldn’t have asked for a better day, truly.”

_“I don’t want knowledge, I want certainty…”_

“I am very excited about just sitting on my ass with you for the rest of it, too, Maker,” he added cheerfully. “Suggesting no crises arise downsta—”

“No,” she interrupted, a strange strength in her voice as though she could will such possibilities away. “No crises. Just us. Wanna watch Star Wars? You can pick which one. Well, within reason, of course.”

“I’ve actually never seen any of them,” Anders admitted to Hawke’s obscenely enlarging eyes.

“Alright, we _obviously_ have to fix this,” she said as she put out the end of her cigarette and quickly moved to head back inside. “We need to make a schedule or something, Maker…okay, we’ll watch Episode IV tonight, then, that makes the most sense…”

“What about I, II, and III?” He asked once she was back in through the window, and she bit her tongue for a moment before responding.

“We don’t talk about those,” she said firmly as soon as he joined her. “Trust me.”

“Alright, love,” he smiled. “You know that I do.”

_“With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground…”_

She turned around and kissed him softly, the force of her own large smile cutting them off and causing her to break away.

“I know. I know, love. Okay.” She took another second just to appreciate this, to appreciate what positives she had, to appreciate that it really looked like the universe was giving them the day, and that was enough. For the time, just to have one whole day, it could be enough. “Alright. We’ll make food happen, and then I have some family members I should probably call if nothing else…I’ll go throw some toys at the cat, and then I’m going to change your life. Good plan?”

“Good plan,” he nodded, and it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Dick in a Box is entirely the fault of [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord), who is such a good bad influence _and_ was already warned that she was going to be publicly shamed for this, so... ;)
> 
> Also many thanks to her for beta reading! And for all her amazing suggestions and advice and overall help in general for this chapter! And just for being super awesome! (I'm so glad to have you as my fictrash partner in crime!)


	51. Chasing Horizons, Edging Past Rumination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to institutionalisation and death
> 
> A short update to get things going back along. _Although_ I am starting to move this towards a direction I actually really, really wanted to do once upon a time but I never thought I could work it into this fic or really ever use it at all myself, and I'd honestly never even considered it much of a real possibility (I pretty much just hoped I'd find that someone else did it, haha) but in the course of things getting away from me as this story so often does, I feel like I have basically done the complete opposite of writing myself into a corner and I'm legit kind of excited to see where all it leads? So yeah, that's a thing.
> 
> ["Western Eyes" by Portishead](https://youtu.be/uJ5KwjNvjYU)   
>  ["First and Last and Always" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/5IbhQFmXsZc)   
>  ["You Know What You Are" by Nine Inch Nails](https://youtu.be/7Yae8V6QODg)   
>  ["Requiem" by Killing Joke](https://youtu.be/U7WPI4TJImo)

Three weeks passed by, and almost quietly at that.

Hawke brought a few more things over to Anders’s—over to their—apartment bit by bit, even though they didn’t have nearly the space Aveline did and they knew it was going to be a bit of a struggle. He had his unoccupied second floor for additional storage, at least, and Aveline didn’t actually seem to mind her leaving things behind if need be. She kept her key and she knew the same open door policy she’d always had there still applied, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to make do.

She was legitimately trying to make plans to take Anders to her mother’s again, that time for dinner, certainly for a far less volatile interaction. Such an effort was partially inspired by Merrill, and by the fact that Marethari’s condition hadn’t changed, with the knowledge that such a thing was all but the best they could hope for. The best, of course, the mercy time would eventually bring her, was still not an idea Merrill was dealing with, but Isabela had finally gotten her to sleep at home again. It had taken an accidental but absolutely devastating breakdown on a Tuesday night, for which she had apologised profusely once she’d calmed down enough to be able to speak clearly again, and Merrill still spent most of her time at Marethari’s bedside, but it was an improvement and they would take it.

While Morrigan had flown out on a redeye Satinalia Eve, as she had apparently simply been missing her son too much to stay, Zevran left that Wednesday, the day after Merrill went home, and that left things about as normal as they could be.

Hawke sat out on the fire escape and watched the sky. It was an overcast Friday evening, clouds obstructing the moons and no stars to be seen, and sitting out there with her nicotine fix and her music shuffling was almost serene. Kirkwall’s weather had already begun moving back to its standard lack of extremes, and she only needed a hoodie outside even though there’d been snow so very recently. It was, as always, a weird city that did weird things, and she had almost learned not to even question its whims.

“How about Sunday?” She asked Anders when she heard him come up behind her, presumably having just finished setting out food for Pounce.

“What’s that, love?” He sat down next to her and she finished her cigarette in that same moment.

_“Forgotten throes of another’s life, the heart of love is their only light…”_

She pulled her pack back out from her pocket and stared at it for a second before she decided to pick up her lighter from her lap and start another.

_“Faithless greeds consolidating, holding down sweet charity with western eyes and serpent’s breath, we lay our own conscience to rest…”_

“Dinner,” she exhaled. “At my mother’s. I know, but I…I really think I need to do this and I get that it would have to be weird as shit for you but I…I, well…”

“I know,” he replied with an understanding smile. “Sunday, then.”

“Carver likes you,” she added, albeit with that edge of bitterness she couldn’t quite yet wear down entirely. “I think that should help.”

“And I _love_ you,” he assured her gently. “So we’ll make it work, alright?”

“Alright.”

_“They have values of a certain taste, the innocent, they can hardly wait…”_

“Have you given anymore thought to First Day?” She asked, referencing the bright blue flier from Bodahn, the protest for a cause they both so desperately believed in, but he had surprised her with his uncertainty over expressing it so publicly whenever she’d presented it.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Trust me, it’s not that I’m not interested, I’m just…afraid?”

_“To crucify, invalidating, turning to dishonesty…”_

“I figure we cover our faces and we skip out if shit gets too real,” she shrugged. “I just feel like we _should,_ you know? Like, I get that this one time won’t change the world but if it could grow, if there were a proper _movement_ —and Maker knows the Chantry should see that there are people out there who hold them accountable. As many people as there can be should be, Anders. You know I’m right.”

_“Then they lie and then they dare to be hidden heroes candidly so I’m aching at the view, yes, I’m breaking at the scenes just like you…”_

“Trista, I…yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, you are. I just don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you out there.”

“You’re not alone in that one, love.” She turned to him and offered what she hoped was a comforting smile, a hand over his thigh, and she saw in his eyes that he agreed, whether he wanted to or not. “Like I said, if it hits the fan then we run, end of story.”

“But what if that’s not enough? I don’t know about you, love, but I’m not particularly fast.” He closed his thought with a slight laugh, but the nerves were every bit as present as before.

_“See a body and a dream of the dead days, following lost and blind. Living far from here, tomorrow is hard to find, and it seems like 25 years of promises and give me more scenes of a hand-me-down in dresses heard before…”_

“Then we might get to see Carver punch his asshole boss in the face,” she chuckled. “Come on, that would be fucking awesome.”

_“First and last and always ‘til the end of time, first and last and always mine…”_

“Be that as it may…”

_“Maybe it’s not so easy, maybe it’s a way too long. Say, say you’ll be by me when the evidence comes along…”_

“One step at a time, then?” She looked him over, decided they still had around a month to discuss it further. She wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea or a terrible idea to suggest that more of their friends would join them if asked, and so she tabled it for another day. “First my mother, then the world.”

_“Cross my heart with silver, here’s the key behind. Seems like 25 years of ever after, ever more, more, more. Seems I wore this face for you far too long before…”_

“That sounds wise, yes,” he grinned, and she lit another cigarette without thinking. “Everything alright, love?”

She considered telling him she was only enjoying the outside air, the chill that wasn’t quite sharp, the crisp feel it held that she loved so much, the ominous shade and fog of the sky above. It wasn’t a lie, she genuinely didn’t want to abandon it, but she did have other things on her mind.

_“First and last and always my calling, my time, first and last and always mine…”_

“Love,” she uttered quietly, “I guess things just have me thinking…”

_“First and last and always ‘til the end of time, first and last and always mine…”_

“What about?” The concern in his eyes was a reaction she knew she should have expected, but still one which she so very much did not wish to face.

She had so many questions for him even after all they’d already been through, even with all the gates of trust they slowly but surely pried open between each other. She was as reluctant to push as always, as adamant to be respectful of what boundaries yet remained, of what he obviously still needed to come by on his own. At the same time there were so many hints left unresolved, revelations left uncovered, and however much she despised her inability to let them go did not quell her desire to unlock such mysteries in any way.

_“I tried to sneak myself through, tried to get to the other side, I had to patch up the cracks and the holes that I have to hide…”_

“Just some things you’ve said over the past few months here and there, I guess,” she said nervously with a large burst of smoke. “You know I don’t ever want you to tell me any more than you’re comfortable with but I…I know you know more about yourself than you want people to think you do and it fucking kills me that you’re still not talking about it.”

It came out more bluntly, more brutally than she meant it to, and she moved her eyes to stare downwards, to exhale into the steps below her that became her point of focus once she finished speaking and followed with a legitimately painfully long drag.

Their fire escape did not actually reach the bottom but ended somewhere around the cusp of the second and first floors. One could somewhat safely jump off in case of emergency, but it would be almost impossible to reach it from the ground. It seemed a fitting thing that she stared at it the way she did then, an analogy she couldn’t work out exactly in her mind but she felt was there anyhow.

“Alright,” he said nervously. “Ask and I’ll…I’ll do my best.”

_“With every bit of my heart I tried to believe in it, you can dress it all up, you can try to pretend but you can’t change anything, you can’t change anything in the end…”_

“You know your birth name, don’t you?” She didn’t look back up, didn’t so much as try to meet his eyes. She lit another cigarette. “I mean, whatever it is, I know it doesn’t matter now, but it’s still the thought. You were able to look up what happened to your mother, you’ve given the impression that you even have some memory of the Anderfels, and I just want to be able to _understand,_ love. Help me understand.”

He sighed heavily and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and there was a peculiar weight to it from the tension he carried.

“I was a fucking junior, Trista,” he answered delicately. “I was named after my father and I didn’t want it. So even after I started talking again, I never said. I never corrected anyone when they called me Anders, even when I could. I wanted it to stick. I wanted to throw away whoever I was before. I didn’t want to be who I was by then, either, I didn’t want anything to do with the life that I had, but at least I could let that one small part of me die and I did so, gladly. I’ve learned not to hate him the way I used to, I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter enough anymore, but that name isn’t me, it never was me, it never will be me, and the one gift the Circle gave me was the chance to rid myself of it. I get that you’d be curious, I do, but I—”

“I’m not asking you to say it, _Anders,”_ she interrupted softly, the emphasis on his name deliberate, and her gaze slowly started making its way back to his. “You don’t ever have to tell me. I don’t need to know, I just need to know you.”

_“Remember where you came from, remember what you are, remember where you came from, remember what you are…”_

“Thanks,” he whispered before he continued. “I only have a few flashing images of the Anderfels, nothing really worth mentioning to be entirely honest, but I really was very young when we moved. I don’t know why we did and I genuinely don’t actually recall exactly how old I was, but I know I hadn’t even started school yet. That’s more of a familiarity, I guess. The few times I’ve seen a news story from there or anything like that, I know I know it on some level but not well enough to really place it in my head, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” she acknowledged, and he pulled on her a bit tighter after his grip naturally loosened from his body beginning to relax.

“So, then, yeah, I knew enough to search for my mother,” he went on after a pause, with that strange added weight transferred to his voice. “Fuck, I just really wish I could have…fuck…”

_“Man watching video, the clock keeps on ticking, he doesn’t know why, he’s just cattle for the slaughter, the requiem…”_

“Love, love, love,” she said quietly, soothingly, and she noticed the cigarette she placed between her lips was again a fresh one. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

_“When the meaningful words, when they cease to function, when there’s nothing to say, when will it start bothering you…”_

“Of all the years they stole from me…” His voice began to shake just so, and she was sure it was subtle enough that no one else would detect it were they not alone, but it resonated so strongly when she caught it. “Of everything I missed out on, that might be the one that hurts the most. I’m not always sure of that, I mean…Maker, there’s so much, but…”

_“Requiem…”_

“That’s…Anders, that’s why,” she fumbled for words, regretting starting as soon as she did yet determined to finish. “That’s why we need to fight back if we can. A chance was _literally_ just _handed_ to us and I can’t possibly justify passing it by. I’m scared, too, but it’s not only our lives on the line. There’s a million children out there right now missing their mothers like that, and I fucking hate that the most important person in the world to me ever had to be one of them so if there is fucking _anything_ we can do, then…”

_“Only a hint of religion uncensors to its false depravity, the sound of breaking glass, this is a reflection…”_

“I know.” He moved to lay his head beneath hers, against her shoulder, and she didn’t know how it wasn’t hurting him to rest himself along her at such angles and it instantly made her want to pull away, but she stayed in place, she did not recoil solely so the action could not be misinterpreted, and she felt how deeply he breathed beside her. “Alright.”

_“Requiem…”_

She glanced at the cigarette between her fingers, at how little of it was left, and there was a resolve in her relief, the sensation of something important upon them, and there was an itch she suddenly longed to ignite.

“Okay, love,” she smirked. “I’ll finish up this last one and then we’re going to go inside, I’m going to call my mother and deal with that, we’re going to figure out the rest of our night, and after all that’s sorted we’ll get back to the topic of fucking up the establishment. Sound good?”

She looked at him while adjusted himself more comfortably, and he kissed her forehead and sat up with a sincere smile, with what looked like some sense of what she could only describe as pride to it.

“Sounds good, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders's name-headcanon blatantly stolen from too many sources to even attempt to find at this point, honestly. That seems to be a pretty common one and I'm all for it (not that I have any personal bias on the subject as someone who already painfully relates to Anders _and_ someone who legally changed their name to get rid of paternal connection...no, that doesn't sound like me at all...).
> 
> Of course, many thanks again to the lovely [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for beta-reading!
> 
> Feel free to join the screaming shitshow trashfest that is me and find my [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), by the way.


	52. Crashing in Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: _much_ discussion of character deaths, vaguely dysfunctional family dynamics, alcohol abuse
> 
> This chapter got weird. In a way that strangely makes sense to at least me, but it got weird. Again with the side effects of characters completely having minds of their own.
> 
> ["Cascade" by Siouxsie and the Banshees](https://youtu.be/qJb2fMc0_Bg)   
>  ["Something I Can Never Have" by Nine Inch Nails](https://youtu.be/WAGAoy5WZWY)   
>  ["Bela Lugosi's Dead" by Bauhaus](https://youtu.be/OKRJfIPiJGY)   
>  ["Astronaut (a Short History of Nearly Nothing)" by Amanda Palmer](https://youtu.be/Z8B2nBM0jFg)

It was Anders’s turn to be overwhelmingly nervous when they pulled into the Amell Estate on Sunday evening.

Hawke wasn’t faring too, too much better than he was, but neither had he done so much better than she did the last time they were there, so it remained a stark role reversal that might have been humorous were it not actually happening in that moment.

They sat in the driveway to give themselves a chance to breathe a bit before they brought themselves to face what was before them, which they both knew would more than likely be only a perfectly civil family dinner. It would, of course, probably be awkward to start, perhaps even a little tense at times, but they had both already concluded that such a scenario was by that point all but certainly the worst case.

The car was already off and its keys already pocketed, their seatbelts were already released, and all that was left for them to do was to open the doors and exit, just to physically move themselves onward.

Instead they sat in silence for several minutes, until they were both mildly startled by the buzzing of her phone.

_I can fucking see you out there, you know._

“Well,” she muttered aloud upon reading Carver’s message, and she showed it to Anders before she continued. “I guess we should get this over with.”

“Déjà vu, much?” He laughed, and it was clearly forced, but she decided to run with it, anyway.

“Little bit, yeah,” she smiled back at him. “I _am_ fairly sure this is where that should end, though.”

“Okay,” he nodded and took in a deep breath. “Alright.”

They let themselves in and went through the long halls until they found the dining room, where her mother already sat at the table, surrounded by multiple plates of bread with a large lidded pot at its centre, as well as bowls and small plates and spoons set for everyone over placemats, and Carver joined just behind them.

“Nice to see you again, Anders,” she addressed him first as the both of them claimed seats across from each other, still with that ridiculous brand of courtesy in the face of strangers she held so dear.

“Thank you,” he replied politely, and Hawke noticed Carver subtly shaking his head at them from beside Anders. “You, too, ah…”

“Please, call me Leandra,” she responded to Anders’s obvious uncertainty in the trickling of his inflection. “So how have you been? Both of you?”

“We’ve been well,” Hawke answered quickly. “How, umm, how was your Satinalia?”

“It was lovely, thank you,” she said with a nod. “We missed having you, but I hope yours was also well?”

“It was, very much, thank you,” Anders surprised Hawke by getting to the question first, and she knew he was trying to get a better feel, searching for his bearings against the circumstance, but she was grateful he was already doing far better than he’d anticipated. 

Both of them were completely decked out in every last piece of jewellery they’d gotten as holiday gifts, including Anders’s red ribbon that he only removed to shower or the one time Hawke insisted he give it to her so she could burn the ends to keep it from fraying, and it was in that moment her mother noticed all they wore.

“You’re both very decorative,” she chuckled at them. “Gifts?”

“Yes,” Hawke replied, suddenly self-conscious over the way she stared at them, carefully looking over their adornments. “Most of mine are from him, and then this one…”

She decided to show her mother the dragon necklace, figuring it might somehow serve as an olive branch of sorts, and she pulled on the long chain that let it fall a good few inches below the green gem from Anders, lifted it to bring full attention to Lirene’s sentiment via Carver.

“This one,” she continued, “is from my boss.”

“Maker’s breath,” her mother said quietly, mostly to herself, her expression indicating that Hawke’s thoughts on the matter proved to be accurate. “I haven’t seen anything like that since…oh my…”

“I know,” Hawke smiled genuinely, the interaction unspeakably strange but more than welcome. “Oh, Carver, I never did thank you for that, did I?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smirked, and Anders actually laughed, and there was something so endearing about the way he did.

“I _know_ you had something to do with it,” Hawke said back to her brother. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to admit that you did something nice for me.”

“Perish the thought,” he responded sarcastically, and everyone at the table joined Anders in such laughter.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two getting along like this,” their mother sighed contentedly, and she couldn’t bring herself to retort in contradiction, not even as a joke. “Your father would have been so proud.”

“Yeah,” Carver muttered, his agreement as obvious as his inability to expand upon the idea.

“I only hope that wherever they are now, he and Bethany know,” she added, and Hawke felt herself automatically begin to nervously twirl her thumbs, quickly followed by Anders’s hand coming up over one of hers to stop it, to give her something else to focus on, to hold on to.

“Umm, how are you two holding up?” Hawke asked to her family members. “First Satinalia without…well…”

“It certainly was a little empty,” her mother acknowledged honestly. “But I suppose that if we got through it after your father passed, then we’ll get through it this time around.”

“Yeah,” Hawke muttered in the same tone Carver just had, and her mother must have taken that as her cue.

“Everyone help themselves, please,” she stated and gestured around the table. “I made Fereldan stew, I hope that’s alright.”

She looked directly at Anders, given that he was the newest, the one who she would most consider the guest, and he appeared flustered for a second, but Hawke was impressed by how quickly he seemed to recover.

“Of course, thank you,” he smiled, and he and Hawke looked at each other in relief when Carver took the initiative to pick up the ladle in front of them and served himself first.

“Carver—”

“Trust me, neither of them were going to do it,” he smiled at what was, of course, going to be their mother’s insistence that he should let visitors take precedence.

“See, you’re doing that thing where you’re nice again,” Hawke laughed, and her brother rolled his eyes in response. 

“Oh,” he spoke up, swiftly changing the subject, “I have to ask, did Donnic _actually_ end up with the guts to follow through?”

“He did,” Hawke smiled while she moved to take her turn. “Knowing those two they’ll either have the whole thing planned and ready to go in the next month or we won’t have any new information for about three years.”

“Eh, I’d wager it’s more like either six or one,” Anders chimed in. “Okay, maybe two.”

“What’s going on?” Her mother asked with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, Aveline got engaged for Satinalia,” Hawke answered, and every ounce of how pleased she was over that development showed itself.

“That’s lovely,” she replied sincerely, and Anders only hesitated slightly before he followed Carver and Hawke’s lead. “I’ll have to call to congratulate her.”

“So…what was her name, Morgan?” Carver started again, and Hawke hoped the way she cringed with the knowledge of where he was going wasn’t visible. “What’s her deal?”

 _“Morrigan,”_ Hawke corrected, stressing the second syllable especially harshly, “and her deal is that she already went home to…wherever she lives, to be with her child.”

“Ah well,” Carver shrugged, and Hawke and Anders playfully shook their heads at him. “I _was_ originally gonna ask about your friend Merrill, but that one answered itself quickly enough.”

“Oh Maker’s balls!” Hawke shouted, punctuated with an abrupt cackle. _“I_ was going to make a move on Isabela!”

“Oh fuck me,” Carver sighed sarcastically. “Alright, that’s just _wrong…”_

Their mother glanced back and forth between her children and the bowl of stew she’d just filled for herself, as though she was debating whether or not she even wanted to ask, and Hawke chose to answer anyway.

“Merrill and Isabela are two of my… _karaoke friends,”_ she explained. “Who also happen to be a couple.”

“Ah,” was all her mother had to offer in response, looking like she did not wish to know after all. “It appears it worked out for you in any case, dear.”

She definitely was not expecting such an addendum, and absolutely not with such an affection behind it.

“Yes,” Anders grinned widely, unapologetically, and it made Hawke’s heart swell. “Yes, I’d say it did. Of course, don’t take my word for that one, I _am_ a bit biased on the matter.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Hawke’s mother said warmly. “So, tell me a bit about yourself.”

“Well, umm,” Anders replied uncomfortably. “What, uh, what would you like to know?”

“Hmm,” she pondered aloud. “What do you do?”

“Shit,” Hawke let out under her breath and prayed her curse had not been audible. Of all the cover stories they’d rehearsed for their previous visit, that was not one they’d thought to come up with.

“You never did explain that to me very well,” Carver interjected. “It was something to do with one of Lirene’s charity things, right?”

She had to bite back her thanks for the sake of not blowing it further, and she thought she could feel Anders’s anxiety over the inquiry dissipating around them.

“Yes, umm,” he began again, and she could see him scrambling for words but did not believe her mother would be able to pick up on it. “I just help her out in a pretty general sense. Whatever she asks me to do, basically, I do.”

“You’re not Fereldan, are you?” Her mother asked, apparently none the wiser to their rapidly improvised duplicity. “With a name like Anders, I suppose I just assumed…”

“I was _born_ in the Anderfels, yes,” he went on with a profoundly concentrated effort on carefully choosing his next words. “I was raised in Ferelden, though. The name is, umm, I guess just an homage to my birthplace.”

“It sounds like your parents must have a great deal of national pride,” she mused.

“I’m not really sure,” Anders continued, and Hawke could see his next move slowly becoming less and less of a struggle. “I, uh, I lost them when I was very young.”

She could have applauded him for how gracefully he carried that, how beautifully he landed his response, to conceal the cold reality without actually telling a single lie in regards to that specific subject.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” her mother replied softly, and it was enough to let that particular topic rest.

“It’s alright,” he smiled politely, momentarily reverting back to his initial demeanour. “It was a very long time ago.”

Silence befell them and everyone took the break to start working on their dinners, and any further conversation at the table from that point was no more than small talk—about work, about the weather, about mostly trivial topics Hawke would normally have cringed at, but which in that instance she had to appreciate.

Eventually that part of the evening concluded and both Hawke and Anders decided not to stay any longer than they had to. It had been as pleasant as they could’ve hoped for, but neither of them were willing to press their luck too far beyond that and they also knew it would then be expected that this would happen again in the near future.

They said their goodbyes to both her mother and to Carver and got back into the car, where Anders let out a long sigh of relief.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Hawke laughed, “but I am so fucking grateful for Carver right now, Maker’s balls…”

_“Oh the air was shining, shining like a wedding ring…”_

“We’re going to have to tell her everything eventually, though, aren’t we?” Anders asked nervously after he turned the ignition and started to pull out of the driveway. “I mean, not necessarily every little detail but still, certainly more truth than we have so far.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Hawke shrugged at him from her seat, and then she promptly moved to take hold of his hand once he’d safely shifted out of reverse.

_“My chest was full of eels pushing through my usual skin…”_

“I guess…I don’t know, if we’re going to try to make this work with her being more of a part of our lives, things are going to have to come further out into the open eventually, don’t you think? I don’t think we can hide forever. It doesn’t feel right that we should try.”

_“Oh love like liquid falling, falling in cascades, oh lovelorn victims, laughing in cascades…”_

“Anders,” she murmured, and she looked on at him with solemnity. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

_“The sun was rich, rich with a song of sin, my breath melted my words into strange alphabets tormenting my tongue, pouting, shouting…”_

“I think she likes me, at least,” he smiled.

“I think so, too,” she agreed lightly. “We’ll always have to keep her in the dark about some things, though, I’m sure of that. How we really met, possibly even what you really do. I imagine, if you really wanted to, we could eventually let her in on the escapee thing given what a massive fucking hypocrite it would make her to take issue with that one, since she’s at least _trying_ to break that particular habit but…I don’t know, love, what exactly are you thinking?”

_“The heartbeats were echoing, echoing the revolver…”_

“I think at some point she just deserves to know…well,” Anders swallowed hard, the search for words showing clearly through his eyes. “I think she should know how _alike_ we are. Especially since, you know, you brought up the idea of wanting a family and all that, then we’d be in the same situation she was and she’d deserve to know—”

“I never said I definitely want kids or anything,” she interrupted, and she tried to her best to be delicate in her haste. “I don’t know what I want, honestly, and you’re right that if it ever does come to that then she would get a heads up, sure. Of course, love. I’m not quite willing to rush to conclusions about how much we should trust her with just yet, though, or how much she can _handle_ or…whatever. This is going to take time, Anders.”

“I know, love,” he offered with a shy grin. “I know. I’d just like to think that someday…you know…”

_“I still recall the taste of your tears echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears, my favourite dreams of you still wash ashore, scraping through my head ‘til I don’t want to sleep anymore…”_

“We’ll figure it out,” she assured. “Like we do with everything else, love. I promise.”

Anders nodded, and she rolled down the window and picked out a cigarette from the pack in her bag.

_“You make this all go away, I’m down to just one thing and I’m starting to scare myself. You make this all go away, you make this all go away. I just want something, I just want something I can never have…”_

“Nope,” Anders said aloud when he let go of Hawke’s hand for just a second to change the song, and she quickly took the opportunity to make use of the lighter she’d been struggling to get a good enough grasp on one-handed.

“Well, this should more than take us home,” she chuckled at the start of the long intro to the song which played next.

“Do you want to go right home?” He was mildly on-edge still and she couldn’t place it, but she shook her head without a thought. The very concept of anything to help Anders relax a little, virtually no matter what that entailed, was not one she had to question.

“What do you want to do?” She noticed the next turn he took was in the opposite direction he’d normally go to head home, but she wasn’t sure if even he knew exactly where they were going. “I’m up for whatever, love.”

“Something,” he answered warily, confirming her suspicions. “I’m just…I’m not ready to call it a night yet, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Wanna stop for a six-pack and forget that we have feelings?”

It was a joke, she was absolutely certain he knew it was a joke, which made it all that much surprising when he enthusiastically nodded.

“That…actually sounds fantastic,” he laughed. “I’ve got to be careful in my old age but you know, if I can’t help myself with my own hangover then what was even the point in becoming a doctor?”

“Okay, not that I don’t like this plan,” she chimed in hastily, “but are you…are you alright, love?”

“Not sure,” he shrugged. “Let’s see what happens.”

She didn’t want to agree with it from that point, but neither could she bring herself to turn it down, to suggest anything else in its place.

_“White on white, translucent black capes back on the rack…”_

“You did an amazing job back there, by the way,” she added after a moment, an attempt at perhaps some vague semblance of distraction. “Seriously, you handled her with such glorious aplomb, love.”

She chuckled at her own words in hope that her choice in phrasing would come off as delightfully over the top as it had sounded to her, as she had intended it to be, but he seemed unfazed.

_“The bats have left the bell tower, the victims have been bled, red velvet lines the black box, Bela Lugosi’s dead…”_

“Thanks, love,” he replied with a short nod and then took another unfamiliar turn. They were yet somewhere in Hightown, that much was evident by the labelling on the street signs, but she didn’t think it was a part of the neighbourhood she’d ever previously ventured into, and she had never known that area to look so dilapidated. They must have been directly on the border of a more disreputable part of town, but she didn’t recognise their location well enough to guess which.

She tossed the end of the cigarette she’d continued absent-mindedly smoking from the window when she noticed she’d finished it, and she immediately reached into her purse to pull out another without thinking, as she so often did.

_“The virginal brides file past his tomb strewn with time’s dead flowers, bereft in deathly gloom, alone in a darkened room, the count…”_

“Wait a moment, love,” he smiled at her just in time, as she flicked on her lighter and was barely an inch away from making the connection she was seeking, and she put it away with the obvious realisation that he did have a destination in mind and they must have been nearing it.

He pulled up in front of a terribly shady looking building beneath a flickering street light, which was almost precisely in time with the flicker of the “open” sign in the window, and through how badly sun-bleached the awning was she could barely make out the words “Hubert’s Fine Goods.”

“How very Orlesian,” she teased once she managed to read the name, and he genuinely laughed in response.

“Oh yes,” he replied through his laughter. “The guy who owns the place is a total dick even by Orlesian standards, but I know he hires Fereldans and his prices have a downright hilarious lack of logic to them, and we were already sort of in the area, so I guess this is just where we ended up.”

_“Undead, undead, undead…”_

“I can just run in. Any preferences?” She asked once he turned off the car, but he shook his head and released his seatbelt.

“Nah, I’d like to look around,” he told her as he went for the door. “I can get my own.”

She had assumed the plan was to share, not to each pick up their own individually, but he so rarely did anything like this that she decided not to say anything, even if it did increase her concern.

They walked into the shoddy little store that appeared to be equal parts pawn shop and beer distributor, and they were greeted by a very miserable-looking man who spoke in a monotone.

They both beelined towards the shelves all along the walls that boasted a wide selection, and Hawke quickly detected the “logic” that Anders claimed to have missed. Anything local to the Free Marches was decently discounted and anything imported from the rest of Thedas was of perfectly average price save for Ferelden, whose products were so painfully price-gouged it didn’t seem possible for it to be anything other than a deliberate insult.

“Well, fuck you, too,” she said aloud without meaning to when she noticed the price of a pack of Joining, a craft red ale she well knew as being from a small brewery in Ostagar, and one that had once been a favourite of hers back home.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Anders spoke up from behind her, peering over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. “We used to drink this _all the time_ when I was in Amaranthine. What a fucking shame.”

After a just a little further browsing they both ended up deciding on the same kind of cider, which turned out to be a fairly easy choice considering it was a drink they both loved as a general rule that was difficult to get wrong, and that there was an especially cheap one available that apparently came from Ostwick.

“Don’t even bother with anything from Ferelden,” the cashier chuckled when they went to pay. “I saw you looking over there and just…don’t.”

“Duly noted,” Anders sighed, and the man whose nametag read Sabin shook his head.

He leaned forward over the counter to get closer to them and whispered, “Hubert’s a cunt. You really shouldn’t shop here.”

“Good to know,” Hawke nodded. “Right now, however, I really can’t argue with paying seven fucking sovereigns for this, but I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

“Suit yourself,” he said while he swiped her debit card. “Just sayin’, is all. You sound Fereldan, so I figured I’d pass along some friendly insight.”

“Thanks,” they said together, terribly awkwardly, and he moved onto Anders once Hawke’s transaction cleared.

They shoved their ciders behind their seats once they were back at the car, and Anders wasted no time in pulling right out and heading determinately in a new direction.

“Where are we heading now?” She asked after he made his first turn, and that time it looked like he knew exactly where they were going.

_“Is it enough to have some love small enough to slip inside a book, small enough to cover with your hands, because everyone around you wants to look. Is it enough to have some love small enough to fit inside the cracks. The pieces don’t fit together so good with all the breaking and all the gluing back…”_

“Somewhere I just really need to go right now,” he sighed dolefully.

_“I am still not getting what I want. I want to touch the back of your right arm. I wish you could remind me who I was because every day I’m a little further off…”_

“Anders—”

“Do you trust me, love?” His voice shook and she didn’t like it but she did trust him, she did trust him with her whole heart, and she wasn’t going to abandon that.

“Of course,” she answered delicately. She rolled the window back down and lit that cigarette she’d all but forgotten about until that single second, and she took his hand again as soon as she no longer needed both of hers. “Whatever you need, love.”

_“And is it getting harder to pretend that life goes on without you in the wake? And can you see the means without the end in the random, frantic action that we take. And is it getting easy not to care, despite the many rings around your name? It isn’t funny and it isn’t fair, you travelled all this way and it’s the same…”_

She stared out through the open window, at how by that point night had fallen entirely and the sky above them was pitch black, exceptionally highlighting the glow of the fog around both moons, the haloes it created, and the burning bright red of her cigarette when she took another drag.

They were at the part of Hightown nearing the Courtyards, the neighbourhood which housed the infamous Gallows and pretty much only served as an unnecessarily vast extension the Chantry grounds, and she figured out what Anders was doing when he started to slow down where they were, when the car started to crawl so he could more easily watch for available parking.

_“I would tell them anything to see you split the evening but as you see I do not have an awful lot to tell, everybody’s sick for something that they can find fascinating, everyone but you and even you aren’t feeling well…”_

He found a spot right at the edge of the two neighbourhoods, which essentially met in the middle with Kirkwall’s expansive cemetery, a very short walk from what had become their clear destination, and he took advantage of how empty the street was and effortlessly pulled into a spot that would likely have been a parallel parking nightmare during a busier hour, and she took her cue to flick the cigarette she’d just finished in a most timely fashion out onto the sidewalk and roll up her window.

_“And you may be acquainted with the night but I have seen the darkness in the day, and you must know it is a terrifying sight because you and I are living the same way…”_

Neither of them spoke while he turned off the car, while they got out and pushed their seats forward to retrieve their goods from behind them, just as neither of them spoke as they nervously walked up the path to the cemetery and then Hawke followed Anders’s lead as he picked up his pace in getting to where they were going.

As classy as they ever were, they sat down before a small stone that read only “Thekla,” and they each removed a twist-off cap from a cider bottle.

“I wanted to avenge him once upon a time,” Anders laughed dryly following a long drink from his. “I know how ridiculous that sounds but, well, what can you do? Fuck knows how I’d ever have pulled that one off, of course, or even how the fuck I’d have broken him out of that place like I planned to if I’d gotten the chance, but… _fuck._ I hate always feeling like I’m living a stolen life. I fucking hate how _this_ is freedom, that I only have it because I stole it _back,_ and how I’ve only achieved it by being such a stubborn asshole. I only made it this far because I was willing to die to get here, you know? This could so easily have been me. Maker knows I did far more in their eyes to earn it than he ever dared. And what he did dare was my influence. He had the spark before he met me, I do realise that, but I don’t think he ever took it seriously until I came along.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” she replied after emptying the contents of her first bottle entirely, and she swiftly opened up a second. “From what you’ve told me it really sounds like he very likely could have.”

Anders shrugged and he, too, opened another bottle. She hadn’t been there since the time she’d run into Carver at Bethany’s grave, and the landscape felt ominous to her somehow, felt like something hanging over them that was ready to collapse upon them, to consume them.

She lit another cigarette and let smoke loose through the fog, adding itself to their encasement, familiarity making it feel safer.

She was already feeling so much lighter all the same, though, as she realised her second bottle was empty and moved to a third. Anders was only a few seconds behind, and with the way her head was almost starting to spin she couldn’t even imagine how he was doing.

She laid herself down on the grass for a moment, both of them quiet in contemplation, but then she instantly moved to prop herself up on her elbows to resume drinking. It was awfully uncomfortable and she knew she was going to feel it in the morning, that she was going to feel all of it in the morning, but she couldn’t care enough to let it stop her.

“I think he’d be proud of you,” she finally said after an unknown span of time she did not so much as try to presume. “I mean I know…I know I never knew him and that probably sounds trite as shit but I do. I bet he was happy for you when he found out you made it and I bet he’d be _so fucking proud_ of everything you’ve accomplished and…fuck, love, do you even _know?_ Do you even know how fucking _amazing_ you are?”

“I swear I recall you insisting you have a tolerance,” Anders chuckled, but his words slurred slightly in his reply, and she must have made some sort of face at him that caused him to shake his head the way he did at her. “Hey, I never said _I_ did.”

“I _did,”_ she grinned widely. “I don’t know where in the Void it went but…oh shit, Anders, you _drove_ us here.”

He burst out laughing at the thought, and she knew she shouldn’t have joined him, but it was the only thing she could possibly do.

She finished her bottle and went for a fourth, only to realise it had to be the fifth considering there was just one left unopened after that.

“Oh,” Anders whined when he opened another bottle, and she looked up to see that it was the last of his, making the expression every bit as inexplicably funny to her as it was adorable. “Shhhhh…”

He put his finger to his lips to draw attention to how loudly she was outright giggling, and she slapped a hand over hers in an effort to stifle it. She realised she didn’t have a cigarette and guessed she must simply have finished it without noticing, and so she lit another and chugged the rest of her open drink before lying back down flat.

“This isn’t where I want to go when I die,” Anders further slurred. His last bottle fell to the ground with a graceless thud once he finished it, and she felt him move in closer while she watched the formless smoke she exhaled that she tried to imagine into patterns waft over her. “Fuck, Tris, this…this isn’t where I want to die.”

“You wouldn’t run away with me when _I_ asked,” she pouted playfully but received no response. “Anders, love, I…I don’t, either, okay? I never pictured this shithole as being somewhere I’d settle, and I’d stay if you wanted to but if you don’t then…I’m not really sure how much I could possibly miss _this.”_

“What if I told you I’ve always wanted to move to Val Royeaux and live among their upper class and drink dry wine and eat cheese plates and make fun of poor people all day long?” She moved onto her elbows again to better look at him, and she was relieved to see him smile.

“I already told you, I can be persuaded,” she laughed softly. “Really, though, you can do better than that. Plus, we _are_ a poor people, love.”

“You know what I mean,” he uttered so quietly she could hardly understand him through that and the strong effect their evening held over his ability to form words.

“I do, love,” she assured. “I’ll go where you go if you’ll go where I go.”

“Of course.”

They sat through another brief silence and it struck her that her cigarette had disappeared again, as had her final bottle of cider, as well as how exhausted she suddenly was. All of which reminded of her of the existence of the passage of time and how poorly they’d been following it, and with nothing left in reach to smoke or drink she found her head nestled into the grass around her once more.

“Shit, what time is it, I can probably call Varric,” she thought out loud, and from the corner of her eye she could see the light from Anders’s phone when he checked.

“Oh _fuck,”_ he whispered as he dropped it. “It’s after 11:00, how did that even…”

She had no idea what time it was they’d actually left her mother’s. It had been dark out by that point, but not nearly as much as it was then, and it would be almost impossible to tell given how rapidly night fell once it started that time of year.

“Maker’s balls, how fucking old are we that ‘after 11:00’ is something to freak out about?” She laughed, albeit more quietly than before, and decided that calling someone might be their only option. She wasn’t legitimately drunk, although she was much closer to that point than she wanted to admit, but if Anders’s drawling speech and clumsy hands were any indication, he definitely was.

She managed to get herself upright again, which was much harder than it had been before, and she dug around in her purse, fighting her own uncooperative fine motor skills to find her phone, and Anders shifted over to lay his head in her lap while she searched for the screen she wanted.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Varric answered, and she forced down the laughter trying to escape her, forced both down the volume and the transparency it would inevitably bring.

“Can you pick us up?” She hyperfocused on each word as the effects of the alcohol continued to catch up on her. “We’re at the Chantry.”

“You and Blondie?” She nodded at his question and then heard Varric clear his throat, the friendly reminder that he couldn’t see her and that as far as he could tell she’d provided no response.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, and she made a high-pitched noise when Anders nuzzled his nose around her thighs. “Love, stop, that tickles…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, do you want to wake up every Chantry mother in the city?” Something jingled in the background on his end and he gave her a long sigh. “I’ll be right there. What are you two going to do about his car?”

“Oh shit, that’s a good question…Anders, love, hey…” She started poking at him with her free hand, and he weakly swatted at her and mumbled what she assumed her meant to be words, but she couldn’t make anything out, and they weren’t helped by the fact that the sounds were muffled by the way he rested against her. “Umm, I think he’s falling asleep.”

She yawned loudly at the thought and tried to keep enough frame of mind to at least press her mouth into her forearm, suddenly wary of all sound.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out,” he seemed to laugh, but she wasn’t sure. “And here I thought he was supposed to be the _good_ influence.”

“My mother has that effect on people,” she chuckled. “We came straight here from dinner.”

“Ah,” he replied quickly, and that time she was certain the slight laughter she heard was real. “Say no more, that could explain just about anything. Anyway, I’m on the road now, so where exactly should I be looking for you assholes?”

“We’re in the cemetery…and,” she said painfully slowly, her eyes darting around for anything she could offer in terms of specifics. “We’re, umm, in the cemetery.”

“Alright, Hawke, I’m sure I’ll find you,” he replied and she thought she could practically hear the way he had to have been shaking his head at her. “It should only take me a few minutes. I’ll see you guys in a little bit.”

She felt strangely content there out of nowhere, the looming dread that had been there not so long ago replaced by a lingering air of peace. It was probably the cider talking, at least to a point, and she realised she couldn’t down her drinks so quickly anymore without feeling additional effects, coupled with how drastically reduced that tolerance she was once so proud of had become, how she then barely retained it at all. She managed to prod at Anders enough to get him to adjust, to push herself to lay back down, for as much as she yet knew she would hate herself for doing so the very second Varric arrived, and she held him close to her when she did. She ran her fingers through his hair and struggled to keep her eyes open, wished they would have picked another night to do this but did not regret that they did it at the same time, even when she looked up again and her head pounded at the sound of their morning alarm.


	53. Morning to Mourning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: death, nods to dysfunctional family (to put it lightly), referenced alcohol abuse
> 
> No music this chapter.

Monday sped past without incident, save for the excessive hangover.

Lirene ended up sending Hawke home early, and Anders picked her up in his car, which they had absolutely not expected to see that morning yet was still mysteriously parked right outside their building. The solution to that riddle, she learned on the ride home from work, was a simple one, or so it was on their end of it. Varric had driven them home and made sure they’d found their way upstairs safely, as well as gotten Anders’s car key off of him, and then Varric had picked up Fenris and driven him to the Chantry where he took Anders’s car and met Varric back in Darktown so he could drive Fenris back to his house.

“See, this sort of shit is exactly what I mean,” Hawke had chuckled throughout that revelation, “Varric is _obviously_ my real mother.”

Anders, at least, had himself far better put together throughout the day than she did, much to her surprise, and he managed to keep himself going for a fairly average shift in the clinic while she spent most of the day sleeping it off in the apartment. They spent their evening quietly watching _Cosmos_ over copious amounts of Gatorade and pizza, and while they didn’t really talk about the previous night too much, it wasn’t so much avoidance or uncertainty but a genuine feeling of there being nothing to discuss.

They’d checked in on each other, made sure the other was okay, and it truly seemed that they were. It had been a strange night, of course, one that neither of them had anticipated and one they probably should have treated more carefully than they had, but it got something out of their systems, even if neither of them had been able to place precisely what that thing actually was. It was so much milder of a response to those odd tensions considering what they were capable of yielding and they both knew that well so in any case, it simply was what it was, and that was fine.

According to Varric they owed him something big for the inconvenience, as they apparently had indeed become the world’s most boring drunken messes and had legitimately just fallen asleep where they were, such arguably unhealthy indulgence guiding time and work and emotional exhaustion and generic insomnia to catch up with them at last, except for the part that once Varric had finally gotten them moving all they did was laugh the whole way and, as he so eloquently recounted, “would not just fucking shut the ever-loving fuck up already.”

They agreed they’d try to come up with something nice, even though they were both sure he’d only been teasing them, and they only stayed out on the couch until sometime around 9:30, at which point they also agreed to call it an early night.

“Maybe sometimes you just need to get shitfaced in a cemetery,” Anders joked while they were getting ready for bed, peeling off layers of black clothing and elaborate jewellery while Hawke did the exact same thing herself, and—in a thought that occurred more and more frequently, it seemed, as her own self-awareness continued to grow—she had to laugh at the utter cliché of it.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she’d shrugged, and while the mention was in earnest and it was not one that Anders could echo, it had been enough.

Still ridiculously tired from the previous night’s shenanigans and its next-day consequences, they were pleasantly surprised by how easily they were able to get to sleep, and how much less of a chore than usual that made it to wake up Tuesday morning.

Following that was another uneventful shift at Lirene’s, since business had slowed down substantially after the holiday had passed, and in comparison to the chaos it had become during the lead-up to Satinalia, almost anything from that point felt smooth and relaxed and probably would for a little while longer.

Then it was around 7:00 Tuesday evening that Hawke had to contain herself and the burst of self-loathing that coursed through her over how grateful she felt about what seemed to be the impossibly perfect timing of Marethari’s death.

Anders received a text from Merrill containing nothing more than a single “M,” so obviously he ran downstairs to check on her, and Hawke took it upon herself to follow.

“Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas, vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin…”

Merrill repeated the words over and over while she slowly rocked back in forth in her seat with her hands equally restless despite the way she had them folded in her lap as though trying to keep them still.

“Stay with her,” Anders whispered to Hawke. “I have to make some calls.”

She assumed in this instance he was going to get in touch with the contacts in Sundermount that Merrill had provided when she first brought Marethari to the clinic, but it occurred to Hawke then that she had no actual idea what typically happened anytime Anders lost a patient, or even where he got any of his supplies. It was a safe bet that Lirene had a hand in it, and her wide reach and the network that reach provided could potentially explain the whole thing, but Hawke wondered at herself that it was not a subject she had ever thought anything of before.

“Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas, vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin…”

Merrill’s speech grew quieter but more rapid, and Hawke had to question how long she’d been at it, how many times she’d said those words over and over and over in order for the grate of her voice to develop as it was. She didn’t say anything out loud, she kept her pondering to herself and only watched, watched carefully while her friend struggled to find grounding, not sure what else there possibly was.

Hawke didn’t know how long she stood there, awkwardly keeping a distant eye on Merrill from across the room, but eventually she saw her friend’s numb stare soften, the cold in her gaze thaw as she finally began to break, as her movement further slowed even while her words sped up more and more. She started with something as small as increasing her rate of blinking, each movement of her eyes bringing forth tears until at last she curled into herself, until her knees were at her chest and her head was buried in her hands while her arms wrapped around them, and she was weeping.

Hawke wished she could say she wasn’t relieved to see it, but she couldn’t exactly feel guilty over the fact that doing so would have been a lie.

“Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas, vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin…”

Merrill’s chanting became choked through sobs so plainly necessary, but it did not relent for as much as her voice failed her more greatly every time she repeated it.

At some point, after some indeterminable length of time, she stopped crying. Her feet fell back to the floor and she leaned forward with her head hanging for just a moment, and then she looked towards Hawke and it appeared as though some form of acceptance was washing over her, and there was silence.

“Lethallan,” she spoke up after what felt like a few minutes, and she nodded at Hawke’s realisation that she was talking to her. “Sorry, it means…kin or clan, or really anything to that effect.”

She sounded rough, small, quiet, so much having been taken out of her, but she gestured for Hawke to move closer and she did without hesitation.

Merrill sat upright and took a deep breath, which she exhaled slowly, calmly, before she stood to meet Hawke, and she pulled her into her arms once she had.

“Ma serannas, ma melava halani,” she whispered. “Thank you for all your help.”

“It’s Anders you should thank, if anyone,” Hawke whispered in return, and she kept Merrill close. “I didn’t do anything.”

Merrill moved back then, only so she could sit again, still shaky, and she wordlessly waved to the other chair not too far from hers against the wall, and Hawke kept her eyes on Merrill as she took it.

“You checked up on me _and_ let me have the space I needed, and you haven’t treated me like a child for having to deal with this in my own way,” Merrill answered flatly. “That’s more than I could ever have asked for.”

“Merrill,” Hawke said softly. “I’m your friend. That is the very least I could do. Please, too, let me know if there’s anything else.”

“It’s more than anyone back home would have done,” Merrill explained bluntly. “More than she would have if I’m honest. She was the only mother I’ve ever known and I love her, and I know she loved me, even when it was hard, but she never understood me and she never tried very well, either. I can’t blame her much, I know she didn’t expect… _this,_ but I was always the outsider among the family she built for us. I wish she could have come here under better circumstances, though. I wish she could have properly seen the family _of_ outsiders we’ve made for each other. I don’t know how she would have felt about it, but I think a part of her would’ve liked to have seen how good it is for me. I was a disappointment to her, to all of them, no matter what I did and I know that would have applied there, too, somehow but…I really do believe it would have brought her some sort of peace to know I’ve found my own way.”

Merrill stood again and moved over Marethari. She pulled down the sheets Anders had lifted up to cover her whole body, pulled them down just enough to unveil her face, and kissed her forehead and repeated once more, “Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas, vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin.”

With that she replaced the sheets and sat back down, and she looked back to Hawke and evidently anticipated the question she debated asking.

“It’s the Dalish rite…or, well, eulogy, I suppose,” she explained with no prompting. “I can’t go home again, I know that, not even to be a part of the ceremonies that will follow. It’s okay, Hawke, it’s…it’s okay. ‘Elder, your time has come. Now I am filled with sorrow. Weary eyes need resting, heart has…heart has become grey and slow. In waking, sleep is freedom. We sing, rejoice, we tell the tale, we laugh and cry, we…we love one more day.”

She recited the translation slowly, painstakingly, her hoarse voice still quivering despite how much calmer she seemed, and then she nodded towards the door, where Hawke looked over to see Anders standing there.

“Isabela just got here,” he smiled directly at Merrill, and she mimicked his expression, however strained her own effort was. “So is Varric, but I assumed the former was the most important note.”

He laughed gently and she widened her smile just a little in appreciation.

“Also, though,” he continued, “I should tell you that arrangements have been made. Ineria and Fenarel are on their way, and I’ve called some other people who are going to help them get her back to Sundermount. If you want to hang around to see anyone before they go or—”

“No, I don’t want to see them,” she shook her head aggressively. “Ma serannas, Anders. I’ll be in the back with everyone else.”

“Thank the Maker,” Anders stated ever so quietly once Merrill departed for the back room, and Hawke nodded. “I don’t know if I should even be _thinking_ that right now, but…”

“I understand, love,” she said as she approached him, as she quickly met his arms and let her head fall against his shoulder. “I suppose the waiting was the hardest or…I don’t quite understand it but she seems like she means it.”

“I think you were right,” he replied gently, and he moved a hand upward to caress her hair while he spoke. “I think she is going to be okay.”

“I hope so,” Hawke sighed despite herself. “I don’t quite believe her about being alright with not feeling like she can go home again—I honestly think she was trying to convince herself much moreso than she was trying to convince me—but I guess there’s certainly something to be said for the effort and…well, that’s what _this_ is for.”

“That’s the idea, anyway,” Anders said lightly, as unsure of himself as he ever was but putting his own brand of effort forward all the same. “On that note, we should probably head back with everyone else. I already told my people I’d be unavailable when they got here, and I highly doubt Merrill’s people will need me.”

“Anders,” she exhaled, curiosity getting the best of her, “I have to ask, who _are_ your ‘people’?”

She felt him breathe deep and swallow hard, and his arms tightened around her for just a second before he responded.

“I guess it’s past time I explain some things to you, love,” he confessed softly. “We’ll talk about it after the meeting, alright? I promise I’ll tell you everything once we’re properly home.”

“Alright, love,” she answered easily. “I trust you.”

With that they let each other go, and they walked down the halls hand in hand to join the rest of the Crew for the evening.

Aveline had also arrived before they did, and Fenris was only another minute or so behind. Merrill sat in Isabela’s lap, and she had her pressed close against her, plainly unwilling to let her go, and Merrill looked like a puddle resting over Isabela, who herself had her legs stretched out onto the chair that was still left otherwise empty for Merrill to sit in.

Everyone who did not already know was informed of the events of the hour and from there, to no one’s surprise, Merrill was given top priority. She wasn’t quite comfortable with that but it was clear she understood why, understood that she needed it, and so she did not turn it away.

It was the agony of the helplessness, not even just of the waiting but from the way Marethari had suffered, the way there was no relief to be found no matter how hard anyone could try. It was the fact that it had been the most time Merrill had spent with her in too many years and she didn’t even know who she was throughout the vast majority of it. It was the vain hope that Merrill couldn’t shut out with Marethari’s every remaining breath, that knowing she couldn’t recover was too far off a concept to accept as long as she still lived. She couldn’t deny how strange it was to come down from that once it was truly over, the shame she felt over being able to do so at all, but it seemed the storm had genuinely calmed.

It turned out to be a shorter session, as no one wished to follow Merrill or distract from her situation, and it didn’t take as long as expected for her to call it a night. She was still a bit shakier than she wanted to let on, that was evident in the awkward way she reluctantly hugged goodbye, so they all continued to remind her as they cleared out that they were only a text or a call away, that each of them would be at the Hanged Man the next day, that there was always the next week to talk as much as she needed again, if not before.

That also meant it was far earlier than anticipated when Hawke and Anders found themselves sprawled out along the couch with Pounce settled in between, both of them far more drained than they had any right to be.

She reached forward to pick up the cup of tea she’d made when they got in, and her mind flickered with the question of whether she should bring up the impending conversation or wait to see if Anders would do so himself, and the timing of the thought perfectly coincided with Anders speaking up while she took a long sip and embraced the warmth, tried to absorb it into her whole being.

“Need a cigarette, love?” He smiled at her gently and ran a hand along the cat beside him, who was purring contentedly.

“That bad, huh?” She chuckled slightly, brain suddenly abuzz with what this discussion could possibly involve if Anders was the one to make such a suggestion.

“No, not _bad_ per se, just…” He shook his head and it looked as though it was moreso directed at himself than at her, and he offered Pounce a few good scratches behind his ears and beneath his chin before starting to push himself out of his seat. “I just probably shouldn’t have kept this from you as long as I have…”

“Alright, love.” She stood up as well and promptly moved towards the bedroom to go through her purse. “Let’s head outside, then.”

They placed the cups they’d had in the main room in the sink and the paper plates that had previously held leftover pizza slices into the garbage on their way out, and then they each made their way through the window. They casually took their usual places on the landing of the fire escape, and Anders waited until she lit her cigarette to start talking.

“I’m sure you know that I have a lot of contacts from Lirene, and that _is_ where a great deal of the help I get comes from, but…”

They seemed to breathe as one, long clouds of smoke in time with the sounds of Anders’s own nervous exhales, and she wrapped her free hand over his, taking a moment to grant their fingers the natural progression of falling into each other’s and holding on tight.

“Whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” she said delicately. “You can tell me anything, Anders.”

“I know, love,” he acknowledged affectionately. “I know. I guess I just wanted to keep you out of it for as long as I could because, well…I didn’t want this to find a way to fall back on you, but since you’re set on following in this path yourself regardless, you should know that I’m…I’m more involved with the Underground than even Lirene knows.”

“I see. So, love, what exactly does that actually _mean?”_ She was careful not to inflect any sense of judgment, any sense of disapproval. She was genuinely interested, and his previously wanting to keep her in the dark on the subject made sense to her, so she precariously monitored her intonation as she asked her question, and by Anders’s expression her effort paid off.

“It means their network is almost as involved with the clinic as Lirene’s is,” he explained. “Where I honestly have no fucking clue how she gets me some of the shit she does, I also have plenty of equipment and even occasional medication shipments that were definitely outright stolen from some Chantry-run facility somewhere.”

“What happened to not using your real identity?” She teased, punctuated by a short laugh and a smirk. His revelations did make her worry for him, she had to admit that much to at least herself, but she could tell he was ready for a reaction with far more negativity than that.

“I said _you_ shouldn’t,” he grinned back, his relief obvious. “Oh, that ship has already sailed fully across the world on my end. I still remain anonymous in publication, though, don’t worry about that.”

 _“Publication?”_ She almost choked on the smoke rising from her lungs and she abruptly cleared her throat once she somehow managed to make it through without coughing them out, the admiration she held over the very idea beaming from her. “Anders, what all _do_ you do? Oh Maker, what sort of pseudonym do you even use? This should be good…”

“Don’t laugh,” he told her in warning, even as he did just that, himself. “It wasn’t my idea, I swear, but I, umm…I run their zine, or at least the one that circulates locally and I write under…well, they call me _Justice.”_

She nodded while she fished for words to reply to all he’d just told her. She had no desire to laugh, there was nothing funny to her about it. Instead the only word she could think of was “beautiful,” something so spectacular about this particular aspect of Anders—this revolutionary side of him she wanted to know better, to run with and burn the world down behind them—that filled her with more than fascination, more than even pride, but a deep respect. Every time she thought she couldn’t possibly love him more than she already did, he found a way to prove her wrong.

“Love,” she started, still searching herself, her eyes set hard on him, watching him watching her. She took a short drag from her cigarette and when she did speak again, it was entirely without meaning to. “That might be _the_ sexiest thing you have _ever_ said.”

It wasn’t quite the sentiment she was aiming to convey, but it was an honest one all the same.

In any case, Anders could not hold back his absolute cackle at her statement, and she easily joined him, both of them rapidly reduced to downright giggling and what had to be roughly a full minute passed between them like that, with their grips on each other’s hands involuntarily growing tighter and tighter. 

What little was left of her cigarette had burned away to the end during their fit of laughter, and in a rare instance, she had no desire to light another. Instead she turned to him with love in her eyes to teasingly rub her nose along his, and then to kiss him softly.

“You’re serious?” He grinned with his question, however obvious its answer was, and he looked at her like she was the only thing in the whole world that mattered, and she could only nod and try to match the face he made. “I’m afraid I don’t think I have _that_ in me right now—Andraste’s flaming knickers, it’s been a long fucking day—but that is…that’s good to know.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Her smile didn’t falter any more than his did, a momentary respite from what a long day it really had turned out to be. “To be fair, I don’t think I do, either, but…well, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he whispered before he moved forward to kiss her forehead, and then her nose, and then her mouth again. It was so gentle, so innocent, even if the future implications were clear. “Wanna head back in?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah, love, that sounds good.”

They sat up and crawled back through the window, and without a word they both apparently agreed it had been enough and went straight for the bedroom.

They had already gotten changed for the night as soon as they possibly could, so from there they simply got into bed, and they curled into each other just as they always did, to melt into their possessive holds, into each delicate caress, into every single small kiss planted across every possible reach to help guide them whatever was coming next.

Because something was coming, there could be no doubt about that, and for a change it did not loom over them in grave foreboding but—at least for Hawke—brought an odd sense of excitement, a strange thrill to see just what exactly it would be, what precisely it might mean, despite the vast potential for consequences entailed. She couldn’t help herself, however, and the thought of living to see whatever it was through, knowing at least one of that group which had long since become her saviours would be by her side all along—it was a thought that gave her hope, even purpose, strong enough that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt anything like it before.

She almost laughed to herself over how risk had never felt so safe, but she remained quiet, hyperfocused on the sound of Anders’s breathing, on the sensation of his arms around her, on fantastical notion that they were heading towards something greater than themselves, and that they were heading there together.


	54. Elasticity So Blessed at the Seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: continuing references to death, vague references to past abuse, a couple of off-hand nods to dysfunctional families
> 
> ["Mother" by Tori Amos](https://youtu.be/wjiI7iwcTZM)   
>  ["Cherry-Coloured Funk" by Cocteau Twins](https://youtu.be/WybSSagVvoU)   
>  ["Blow" by Kesha](https://youtu.be/CFWX0hWCbng)   
>  ["Ribbons" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/m2YVCUaykIw)   
>  ["Swan Lake" by Public Image Ltd.](https://youtu.be/6GwrRGxYmY8)   
>  ["Crosseyed and Painless" by Talking Heads](https://youtu.be/cY3tHQJegOM)   
>  ["Après Moi" by Regina Spektor](https://youtu.be/QbeHq1CLqJ8)   
>  ["Apocalypse Please" by Muse](https://youtu.be/YFrl01aPPkA)   
>  ["Drumming Song" by Florence + the Machine](https://youtu.be/boo2Zm69fhY)   
>  ["Mysterons" by Portishead](https://youtu.be/t3baifH7bhI)

Everyone came out to the Hanged Man again on Wednesday. Aveline and Donnic would, as usual, be leaving early, but the fact that they still made the point to show up on a weekday had its usual impact. 

_“Go, go, go, go now, out of the nest, it’s time. Go, go, go now, circus girl without a safety net. Here, here now, don’t cry, you raised your hand for the assignment. Tuck those ribbons under your helmet, be a good soldier. First my left foot then my right behind the other, pantyhose running in the cold. Mother, the car is here, somebody leave the light on…”_

Merrill’s voice cracked from the karaoke stand, but according to Isabela she was still holding up remarkably well, at least considering. She apparently yet believed her that the worst was over, and as the one who was by far and wide the closest to her, her word would be good enough.

“She’s not quite where she wants to be, but I mean, it only just happened, so…” Isabela explained at the table while Merrill sang, which was then instantly diverted by giving Carver a brief rundown of the situation when he interjected to express his obvious confusion, having previously remained ignorant to the whole ordeal.

“She was talking in her sleep a little last night, and she sounded so…so _heartbroken,”_ Isabela confessed to everyone after Carver was informed of what had happened. “Shit, don’t tell her I told you that, but…I really do think she’s handling this whole thing _amazingly_ —really, I don’t know how she’s doing this at all—but it’s still…a process, I guess, and I’m not entirely sure she gets that.”

_“Dripping with blood and with time and with your advice, poison me against the moon…”_

She lit her second cigarette since sitting down to talk to the rest of the group, and immediately shook her head at herself for doing so.

“Ah well,” she chuckled at her own negligence. “Anders, I think I’m going to give you my turn, then.”

“Hey, now,” Varric teased. “Why does Blondie get to be the one who’s bumped up?”

“Because he has the prettiest voice,” Isabela answered with a smirk.

“It _is_ true,” Hawke added, and Carver made that face he so often made when he was around anymore, whenever she or Anders made any sort of comment about each other.

_“I escape into your escape into our very favourite fearscape. It’s across the sky and across my heart and I cross my legs, oh my god. First my left foot then my right behind the other, breadcrumbs lost under the snow. Mother…”_

“I think she understands,” Anders noted, going back to Isabela’s earlier mention. “Whether or not she _wants to_ is a different story, of course, but Merrill’s smart and she’s _incredibly_ strong. I’m sure it’s going to have to take its time, but she’ll get there, Isabela, I wouldn’t worry about that much.”

“Thanks, Anders,” Isabela said quietly between puffs, the scent of clove wafting across the table as she spoke. “I think that’s _exactly_ what I needed to hear.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he smiled. “And you _both_ always know where to find me if you need me.”

Hawke’s eyes involuntarily gravitated towards Carver, who did not seem to even so much as internally question the conversation around him, at least if his appearance of utter nonchalance was to be taken as any indication. She supposed she shouldn’t put it past him by that point to simply accept that there were things about this particular group of people he wouldn’t understand, and she well knew that he in fact entirely grasped the concept that he shouldn’t for the sake of his own deniability, but she was never any less thankful to see such acceptance in action.

“Anyway, I need another drink,” Isabela exclaimed before she hopped up from her seat and went straight for the bar, going right to Corff instead of bothering to wait for Norah to make her way back to them on her rounds or attempting to call her over.

_“Somebody leave the light on just in case I like the dancing, I can remember where I come from, Mother…”_

Isabela walked back to her booth with a very tall drink in hand, and she set it down just in time for Merrill to finish up and hand over the microphone, which she promptly also set down to take Merrill’s face into both hands and pull her in close for a long, excessively drawn out kiss, and even under the dim tavern lights the blush that spread beneath the tattoos along her cheeks was clearly visible.

Anders stood up at the sound of his name to take his turn, and Carver quickly spoke up to offer his condolences to Merrill.

“I just heard about your mother,” he told her, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

It was a simple effort, worded very much like something their mother would say, so delicately polite, but with a much more pronounced sincerity.

“Thank you, Carver,” she replied in a similar tone with a small nod, and neither of them looked certain of whether to continue or where to go if they did.

_“Beetles and eggs and blues pour a little everything else, you steam our unstable eyes and glass, not get passed off through my bird lips as good news, still we can find our love from down behind, down far behind this fabulous…”_

“Oh hey, Trista, umm,” Carver spoke up again, and the way he looked at her served as an automatic cue for her to light a cigarette, the way his voice came out as somewhere between stern and unsure, a limbo she wouldn’t have imagined was possible. “Maker, I pray I’m not about to give you any fucking ideas but…I’ve heard some rumours going around the Gallows about something coming up on First Day, and…you already know, don’t you?”

“I guess it would’ve been too much to ask for to hope _you_ didn’t,” she teased, but she knew exactly what he was going to say next and she realised she should have already known this was going to come up, but she took a long drag and braced herself against his impending disapproval and possible subsequent lecture.

“My thoughts exactly,” he surprised her with a short laugh, and then he lit his own cigarette before his brow furrowed at her again. “Please, though…please tell me you’re not planning to go.”

She sighed out smoke, his sentiment precisely what she had expected.

“You already know that you know my answer to that, Carver,” she shrugged.

_“You’ll have the hardest black and dullest knife, we hanged your pass and start being as you in ecstasy, still being cried and laughed at before. Should I be sewn in, hugged? I can by not saying, still being cried and laughed at from light to blue…”_

“Yeah, I do,” he admitted, and he surprised her yet again with a subtle smile. “Well, then, just…just promise me— _promise me_ —that you’ll be careful, alright?”

_“And I should I be sung and unbroken by not saying? You mind not saying. He’ll have the hardest black and dullest ignite…”_

“I can do that,” she grinned, pleased his concern took the turn it did.

“Hawke, no,” Aveline cut in, evidently also aware of what exactly it was they were talking about. “You’re not really—”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Fenris interrupted, “but…”

_“We hanged your star and pass, being as you in ecstasy…”_

“Hawke,” Aveline started again. “The guard is going to be there. Thankfully my position means I won’t be working it personally, but if anything happens to you there, I _cannot_ protect you.”

“I probably _will_ be working it,” Donnic added. “And I _would_ much prefer to _not_ have to arrest you.”

“Okay, what the actual fuck are you guys on about?” Varric asked ever so tactfully.

“What he said,” Fenris reinforced with a chuckle.

_“Should I be sung and unbroken by not saying? Still being cried and laughed at from behind me, from gains, hugged and tugged through this tiger’s mask for key…”_

“That fucking anti-Chantry protest,” Aveline answered bitterly.

“That doesn’t sound like the sort of you thing you’d be against, Aveline,” Merrill countered, and Aveline shook her head in frustration.

“I’m _not,”_ she confessed wearily. “But that doesn’t mean I can condone my fucking friends walking into that mess when I know what the guard’s got planned for it.”

_“Back door cracked, we don’t need a key, we get in for free, no VIP sleaze, drink that Kool-Aid, follow my lead, now you’re one of us, you’re coming with me…”_

Hawke glanced over her shoulder as Anders sat back down beside her to look at Isabela, who was in astoundingly good spirits, practically bouncing in time to the beat of her song. It was probably yet a show for Merrill, with how worried for her she still was, but Hawke was happy to see that it was something she could do in any case.

“What are we talking about?” Anders asked once he had himself settled.

“Aveline and Donnic fearing for Hawke’s well-being,” Fenris grinned mockingly. “So, you know, the usual.”

“Thanks for that, Fenris,” Hawke laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Not _quite_ the usual,” Donnic chuckled. “Although I guess it doesn’t really deviate from the general theme, true…”

“Love you, too,” Hawke snickered.

“There’s going to be some sort of… _radical assembly,”_ Carver began to explain, but his face fell before he could continue with it. “Surely you know already, what am I saying?”

“Yeah…”

_“This place’s about to blow…”_

“I want to come,” Merrill said, so serious in how firmly she spoke. “I want to be a part of this. I want to help.”

“Merrill, please,” Aveline replied through gritted teeth. “It’s bad enough that I know Hawke’s going to do it no matter what I say, but you—”

“There’s strength in numbers, Aveline,” Merrill retorted. “The more of us there are, the harder it will be for your people to get to us.”

“We have _no idea_ what kind of turn-out to expect, though,” Carver noted. “Sure, if there’s a thousand of you, then there will _obviously_ only be so much anyone can do but if it’s just you guys, you’re _fucked.”_

“Exactly,” Donnic nodded.

_“Now that we’re taking control, we get what we want, we do what you don’t, dirt and glitter cover the floor, we’re pretty and sick, we’re young and we’re bored, it’s time to lose your mind and let the crazy out, tonight we’re taking names ‘cause we don’t mess around…”_

“It won’t just be us,” Anders let slip, and his eyes quickly darted around the room in a brief moment of panic when he did.

“Anders,” Aveline said tersely. “What do you know?”

“Forgive me, Aveline, but more than I can share.” He sighed heavily and looked straight down at the table. He didn’t want anyone else to be brought into this, even after Hawke had brought herself in, especially since they both knew there would be at least some interest from the rest of the Crew. “Considering what you do for a living, I’m sure you understand.”

_“This place’s about to blow…”_

“Of course I do, Anders,” she answered reluctantly. “I’m still not going to be happy about it…”

“I was thinking masks,” Hawke teased, although that genuinely was her plan as far as she’d thought it through by that point.

“Bandanas,” Merrill suggested easily, and all eyes shot directly to her. “What? It makes much more sense, doesn’t it? They’d hide your face well enough but it’d be be easier to see out of. That and they’d be more flexible, perhaps even more breathable, especially in a large crowd, and they’d be easier to remove if—Creators forbid—there actually was any kind of emergency.”

“Well,” Hawke grinned widely, “I guess that settles it.”

“I don’t know anything about this,” Carver stated matter-of-factly. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone, not even Mother, because I know _nothing._ That sound fair enough to you, Trista?”

“Agreed.” She playfully reached her hand across the table at her word to shake his, and Carver rolled his eyes at her but swiftly accepted.

“Same goes for us, I’m afraid,” Donnic followed. “No need for any kind of pact, just…”

“Of course,” Anders nodded.

_“Go insane, go insane, throw some glitter, make it rain, and let me see them hands…”_

“I’ve honestly always wanted to do something like this,” Merrill said, sounding strangely chipper. “I saw a documentary about Emma Goldman once when I was a kid and I just thought she was so brave…”

“Count me in,” Fenris said once Merrill trailed off. “I can’t in good conscience let you assholes run off to do this on your own. You should at least have _someone_ on your side with any real upper-body strength.”

“I can’t argue with that one, Broody,” Varric chuckled. “Add me to the list, too, though. Hawke should have _some_ parental supervision, after all. I’ll just be, uh, I’ll be standing behind him.”

_“This place’s about to blow…”_

“Why do I suspect this is the single most ridiculous example of foreshadowing I’ve ever heard of in my entire fucking life?” Aveline huffed and pointed towards Isabela singing at the booth, and everyone else at the table burst loudly into laughter, although whether she intended to be making light of the situation or not was unclear.

Hawke’s name was called next, and she made sure to take a moment to kiss Anders on the nose before she ran up to the booth to take her turn.

She decided she was definitely going to order something light to drink once she was done, with the evening’s conversations thus far turning into far more of a tonal roller coaster than she could have anticipated. She was trying to be careful after hers and Anders’s cemetery adventures, knowing full well how easy it would be to let that mark the descent back into bad habits, and he was doing the same. At the same time, however, no one would fault her one drink.

_“I’m lying on my back now, the stars are all too near, flowers on the razor wire, I know you’re here. We are few and far between, I was thinking about her skin. Love is a many splintered thing, don’t be afraid now, just walk on in…”_

Isabela popped back over to the table, and it looked like Aveline wasted no time in relaying to her what they’d been talking about before she called Hawke forward. She couldn’t get a good read on Isabela’s reaction, though. She might have simply been surprised, or even excited, looking at how animated she became while talking to everyone, but she could just as easily have been livid. Regardless, her response became more and more impassioned by the second.

_“Her eyes were cobalt red, her voice was cobalt blue, I see no purple light crashing out of you, so just walk on in…”_

She pulled up a chair from the table next to theirs and sat down on it backwards, leaning forward over the back of it, already calmer by the time she reached over and started casually playing with Merrill’s hair.

_“Her lovers queued up in the hallway, I heard them scratching at the door. I tried to tell her about Marx and Engels, god and angels. I don’t really know what for, but she looked good in ribbons…”_

Still, Isabela was engaging more directly, more intensely with Anders specifically, until finally she shrugged, nodded, and focused her full attention back to Merrill.

_“So just walk on in. She looked good in ribbons, so just walk on in. Tie a red, red, red, red, red, red ribbon. Love is a many splintered thing. Tie a red, red, red, red ribbon. Don’t be afraid, just walk on in. Just walk on in. Just walk on in. Just walk on in. Flowers on the razor wire, just walk on in. Incoming…”_

She finished shouting out the end of her song, passing Isabela as they switched places for her to call Varric up next, and Aveline was yet again shaking her head.

“Isabela will be joining us at the Gallows, as well, apparently,” Anders noted before Hawke could ask.

_“Seeing in your eyes…”_

“She doesn’t need to protect me,” Merrill said with an unexpectedly harsh edge in her tone. “I can take care of myself.”

_“Seeing in your eyes…”_

“To be fair,” Fenris countered, “I think every one of us can use all the help we can get if we’re really doing this. I don’t think she’s trying to coddle you, Merrill. I think she simply sees this for the risk that it _is,_ and she’d rather be there with you than see you on the news.”

_“Words can never say the way, told me in your eyes, final in a fade…”_

“Shit, Fenris,” Merrill sighed. “You’re right, I just…I’m still just so used to people treating me that way and with… _everything_ recently I guess I sort of just reverted back to…I guess I owe her an apology. I’ll be back.”

“Fuck, I just wish there was more I—we could do for her,” Hawke said sadly after Merrill got up.

“She still truly is holding up really well, though, all in all,” Aveline assured.

“It makes sense that being confronted with something like this would bring up a lot of unpleasant feelings,” Fenris added. “From what she’s said, I wouldn’t be surprised if the relationship she had with her family is where all that anxiety comes from.”

_“Never really know, never realise, silence in your eyes, silence in your eyes…”_

“Fair point, Fenris,” Anders acknowledged sadly. “I honestly can’t even imagine…”

He looked around as though he might visibly spot the end of his thought lingering somewhere else across the room, promptly saved by Donnic tossing in an obligatory yet entirely sincere, “It’s a good thing she has all of you.”

_“Never really know ‘til it’s gone away, never realise the silence in your eyes…”_

“Yeah,” Anders said quietly, just as lost as any of them. It was still getting to him, too, that helplessness and his personal position against it, how there’d been nothing he could do, how he could only sit back and watch. He wasn’t really talking about it, himself, neither had he done so much while it was still happening, and Hawke couldn’t say she blamed him. The reality was simply that everyone was dealing with it in some form or another, even for those whom that only meant worrying about Merrill, and that everyone would have to do so in their own way and in their own time.

_“Saw it in her eyes, choking on a bed, flowers rotting dead, seen it in her eyes, ending in a day, silence was a way, silence in your eyes…”_

Norah returned to the table and Hawke and Anders each ordered a beer, hoping it would be enough just to take the edge off. There was so little left of what there had been, but what had been was so severe that the remaining burden was still a heavy one.

Merrill sat back down at the table just as Fenris was requesting a top-off on his wine, and Hawke could see the way her eyes watered while she asked for a double shot of vodka.

_“Seeing in your eyes, I’m seeing through my eyes, words cannot express, words cannot express…”_

“Everything alright?” Anders asked, and Merrill shrugged.

“It will be,” she said longingly. “It will. I’m still processing, I guess.”

“Be in touch, alright?” Anders offered gently, and Carver moved away from them to the calling of his name. “Any time. You need me, you call me.”

“Thank you,” she managed with a small smile.

“Same goes for any of the rest of us, Daisy,” Varric added, sitting back down just in time to catch the end of the exchange, and the remainder of the group made various gestures and vocalisations in their agreement.

_“Lost my shape, trying to act casual. Can’t stop, I might end up in the hospital. Changing my shape, I feel like an accident. They’re back to explain their experience…”_

“Never in a million years would I have pegged your brother for a Talking Heads fan,” Anders chuckled once Carver got started.

“Father,” Hawke explained succinctly, and it was clear she didn’t need to say another word to get her meaning across.

_“Isn’t it weird? Looks too obscure to me. Wasting away, and that was their policy…”_

Hawke bit back a laugh at her gratitude over her brother not even trying to hit the higher notes and instead singing them in his normal register, but she was able to contain it without anyone noticing. The song was otherwise a very good fit for him, and she couldn’t help how strangely calming she found hearing him sing it, and the nostalgic familiarity it held.

“Just a heads up, we’re probably going to need to get going once he’s done,” Aveline said after a moment.

“I’m glad you came,” Merrill grinned at them, obviously appreciative of their reason for doing so. “Will you be here Saturday, too?”

“Of course,” Aveline smiled, and Donnic nodded alongside her.

Hawke pulled out her phone to check the time and saw that it wasn’t even 10:00pm yet, which was reassuring to her somehow. Neither she nor Anders would want to stay out too, too much longer, themselves, so it was refreshing to see that it was earlier than she thought, that they had more time than she thought.

_“There was a line, there was a formula sharp as a knife, facts cut a hole in us…”_

She put away her phone and hardly even noticed she’d replaced it with a cigarette until the action prompted Varric to follow suit.

“Still working on your Satinalia gift?” He teased Hawke, and she shook her head with a smirk.

“Maker, no,” she chuckled. “That’s long gone.”

_“Still waiting…”_

“You know, Varric,” Merrill said quietly, “I actually still have that ball of twine.”

Varric’s abrupt laughter legitimately caused him to choke on his exhale, and he spent the next several seconds coughing loudly enough that it was hard to hear Carver, until he got himself together enough to chug the rest of his drink and then, after all that, start laughing again.

“What in the Void is so fucking funny?” Hawke looked to Anders, and she suspected he knew what they were referring to but he didn’t give anything away.

“When I first met Daisy, she was still fairly new to the city, and you know how confusing these fucking streets can get,” Varric started.

“I’m _terrible_ with directions anyway, honestly, but one time I mentioned to Varric how difficult I was finding it to learn my way around—”

 _“And_ Varric is an asshole,” Fenris interrupted.

“And Varric is an asshole,” Merrill confirmed. “So he bought me this _giant_ fucking thing of twine and told me I could use it to leave myself trails so I’d find my way home. He was joking, of course, I know, but it was the first nice thing anyone had ever really gone out of their way to do for me, so I’ve kept it.”

_“The island of doubt, it’s like the taste of medicine, working by hindsight, got the message from the oxygen. Making a list, find the cost of opportunity, doing it right, facts are useless in emergencies…”_

“Indeed, Varric is an asshole,” Hawke echoed. “Although I suppose he’s the well-meaning kind.”

_“The feeling returns whenever we close our eyes, lifting my head, looking around inside…”_

“Is that why we keep him around?” Fenris laughed, and Varric offered him a lewd hand gesture in return.

“Nah, Broody,” he added upon putting down his hand. “You keep me around for my impeccable charm.”

Fenris and Merrill were both laughing unreasonably hard at that, and Varric deliberately cleared his throat at them with a downright obnoxious volume.

“Don’t forget the free drinks,” he continued with feigned annoyance.

“Oh, Varric,” Merrill smiled, and so casually Hawke actually believed it. “You know we love you. We _were_ all friends with you even before you—oh, thank you!”

Norah returned with everyone’s drinks, and Merrill shot hers back in less time than it took to blink, much to everyone’s surprise.

_“Facts are simple and facts are straight, facts are lazy and facts are late, facts all come with points of view, facts don’t do what I want them to, facts just twist the truth around, facts are living turned inside out, facts are getting the best of them, facts are nothing on the face of things, facts don’t stain the furniture, facts go out and slam the door, facts are written all over your place, facts continue to change their shape…”_

“That’s quite a face,” Aveline chuckled at the way Merrill grimaced upon swallowing.

“Isabela always tells me it doesn’t have a flavour,” she replied shyly. “And I always forget that she’s wrong until I try again.”

“It really doesn’t, Merrill,” Hawke cut in. “At least, last time I checked, ‘Maker’s balls, this must be what it feels like to swallow straight acid’ didn’t count as one. Could be wrong, though.”

_“I’m still waiting…”_

“You never complained about it when we were kids, Hawke,” Aveline laughed.

“Red! You? Underage drinking!” Varric joked. “The scandal!”

“Oh sod off, Varric,” Aveline grinned back. “We were all young once.”

“Remember that time you snuck into your father’s liquor cabinet and we got smashed off of mixing vodka with Surge and then stayed up until 4:00 in the fucking morning watching Invader Zim?” Hawke finished her question with a sip of her beer and tried to hold back from laughing with the rest of them, least of all Varric, who had practically descended into hysterics.

“Good job at dating yourselves on that one,” Carver teased as he sat back down.

“Hey, you’re not _that_ much younger than we are,” Aveline retorted while she and Donnic started moving. “On that note, though, I think it’s time for us old fucks to call it a night.”

They made their rounds, rushing first to Merrill as Isabela called her up for her second round of the night, and then made sure to make a detour to say goodnight to Isabela before leaving.

_“I, oh, must go on standing. You can’t break that which isn’t yours. I, oh, must go on standing. I’m not my own, it’s not my choice…”_

“Seriously, though,” Varric laughed again while readied to light another cigarette. “Red is _never_ going to live that one down now.”

“What, did you think she was just _born_ eight feet tall with the model of proper adult work ethic and lawful good morality?” Hawke chuckled.

“Yeah, kind of,” shrugged Varric, Fenris, and Anders all at once.

_“Be afraid of the lame, they’ll inherit your legs. Be afraid of the old, they’ll inherit your souls. Be afraid of the cold, they’ll inherit your blood. Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood…”_

“Yeah, that’s fair,” both Hawke siblings replied as one in turn.

“What _was_ she like growing up?” Fenris asked more seriously. “It’s honestly much too difficult to picture her without all the mothering and the _quite_ unnecessarily _large_ presence.”

“I feel you,” Varric added with a nod. While Fenris did still have a good few inches on Varric, he was indeed fairly short himself, certainly shorter than Hawke and—by obvious extension—Aveline.

“She was _always_ tall, no matter her age, I can tell you that much for sure,” Hawke laughed. “Pretty normal other than that, though. We did dumb teenage shit when we were dumb teenagers, just like everyone else. Main difference is that she grew out of it eventually.”

“Hey now, love,” Anders said sternly. “That’s not being fair to yourself.”

“You’re one to talk,” Hawke smiled in spite of her sincerity. 

“I never said I was,” he retorted playfully. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hold out hope for you.”

“That’d make one of us,” she said quietly and entirely unintentionally, and she quickly took another drink as soon as she realised she’d said it out loud.

_“Après moi le deluge, after me, flood…”_

“So, do you really think Big Girl’s actually gonna leave us shit out of luck on First Day if it comes to it?” Isabela asked upon appearing from nowhere, as per usual.

“I wouldn’t bet on it, honestly,” Carver said. “She’s probably just really hoping letting you think she would will be enough to talk you out of doing it. Apparently she’s completely forgotten how long she’s known my sister and all of the details involved, because otherwise I really don’t see why she’s bothering.”

“Maybe she thought she’d get everyone else on her side and you’d all team up to tie me to a chair or something,” Hawke mused.

“Please,” Fenris laughed. “She knows the rest of us better than that by now, too.”

“Anyway,” Hawke chuckled and shook her head, “we’ve got our bandana plan now, it’s all good.”

“I’ve gotten up to 200 pounds on the bench press,” Fenris said firmly. “I won’t let a single fucking thing happen to any of you.”

His jaw seemed to clench momentarily and Hawke thought she could almost see the flash of protectiveness over their friends in his eyes.

“Andraste’s tits, Broody,” Varric spoke up over the strangely awkward tension that had arisen in that moment. “Where are _our_ tickets to that gun show?”

Hawke watched them carefully, uncertain of exactly how much anyone else besides she and Anders knew of the finer details of Fenris’s upbringing, and just what sort of reply that might warrant. She knew much had come out during the Danarius scare, that he’d offered up far more explanation than he had ever been able to make himself talk about before, yet she wasn’t sure if he’d gone so far as to explicitly tell anyone else why he always kept his skin so thoroughly covered as he did.

In any case, much to her relief, Fenris’s only response was in the form of further offensive hand gestures.

“Eh, I’m good,” Isabela chuckled, and with that the moment washed away completely. “I’ve got knives for _days,_ don’t you worry about me.”

“Do I even want to know?” Hawke laughed.

“No,” Isabela answered with a smirk that definitely hid something, and Hawke decided not to press the matter. She still knew very little of the finer points of Isabela’s personal history, but she knew enough by then to not feel the need for further explanation, to know that in reality she probably already understood well enough.

_“Be afraid of the lame, they’ll inherit your legs. Be afraid of the old, they’ll inherit your soul. Be afraid of the cold, they’ll inherit your blood. Après moi le deluge…”_

“Anyway,” Isabela started and never finished, managing to disappear as swiftly as she’d appeared to begin with.

“Resuming not knowing what you’re talking about now, by the way,” Carver noted in his still poignant apprehension towards the subject.

“Talking about what now?” Hawke laughed. “I don’t think we were talking about anything…”

“Slick, Hawke,” Fenris joked with an actual wink, which was somehow absurdly amusing to her.

_“I, oh, must go on stand-stand-ing-ing, you can’t, can’t break that, that which isn’t, isn’t yours, yours…”_

From there Carver moved on to interrogating Fenris about weight training, looking to compare notes or something along those lines. Fenris looked engaged enough in the conversation, but she found it impossible not to tune it out, lighting a cigarette and only looking up again to notice Anders and Merrill were switching places.

_“Declare this an emergency, come on and spread a sense of urgency and pull us through, and pull us through, and this is the end…”_

“Getting tired over there, Hawke?” Merrill caught her attention.

“Actually…fuck,” she laughed to herself, realising just how applicable it was. “I _was_ hoping to hold out a bit longer, but some dickbag little brother had to make me feel old and now here we are…”

_“It’s time we saw a miracle, come on, it’s time for something biblical to pull us through…”_

“Not my fault,” Carver interrupted whatever Fenris was telling him to reply. “Blame Mother for not holding out a few more years.”

“Oh, but I already have _so_ much else to blame her for,” Hawke sighed, only partially joking in her exasperated tone. “Besides, I’d have to place some blame on Father as well for that one, and that part just doesn’t feel right.”

Instinctively, unthinkingly, her free hand slipped from the beer bottle it had been resting over and moved to grasp her dragon pendant, at which point Carver simply turned back to Fenris.

_“Proclaim eternal victory, come on and change the course of history and pull us through, and pull us through, and this is the end, this is the end of the world…”_

“Are you at least going to do another song?” Merrill asked her wistfully, as though she wasn’t yet ready for people to start leaving. Her voice sounded a little raw, and Hawke knew that likely came from the simple fact that both of her songs had been difficult ones, but there was another element to it, as well, something smaller that made her want to stay.

“I did put one in, yeah,” she smiled with her reply. “I think we’ll try to stick around at least that much longer, then. Right, love?”

_“There’s a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you’re around, I swear that you could hear it, it makes such an almighty sound…”_

Anders sat back down beside her as Isabela allowed herself another go. The tavern was especially empty, even for a Wednesday, and the chances of anyone outside their group putting anything in was therefore extremely slim.

“What was that, love?” He asked upon taking his seat.

“I’m getting old, that’s what,” she chuckled, and then promptly relayed what he had missed.

_“I ran to a tower where the church bells chimed, I hoped that they would clear my mind. They left a ringing in my ear, but that drum’s still beating loud and clear. Louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell…”_

“I’ll probably get moving around the same time, too,” Carver chimed in. “They’re fucking my shifts all around these days so I probably shouldn’t stay out too much later, regardless.”

“I’ll be here all night, Daisy, don’t you worry about a thing,” Varric said with a grin at Merrill’s look of dejection.

 _“You’ll_ stay a bit later, won’t you Fenris? Otherwise, Carver, how can you leave poor Merrill all alone with Varric? How very rude,” Hawke laughed at her brother, and she was pleased to see she could get a positive reaction out of Merrill, as well.

_“As I move my feet towards your body, I can feel this beat, it fills my head up and gets louder and louder…”_

“I can stay, don’t worry,” Fenris smirked. “I could never do such a thing.”

“Thanks,” Merrill smiled softly. “It’s okay, though, I know you’ve all got things to do in the morning. So do I, actually. There was one project I’d been working on before…before…well, I got pretty sidetracked for a bit there, but now I’m finally getting back to it and…oh…”

_“I run to the river and dive straight in, I pray that the water will drown out the din, but as the water fills my mouth it couldn’t wash the echoes out…”_

“What is it, Merrill?” Anders asked cautiously.

_“I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole ‘til there’s nothing left inside my soul, I’m as empty as that beating drum but the sound has just begun…”_

“It’s just…I’ve got some leads on some really old pieces of Dalish history, artifacts thought long gone that might have real significance to uncovering more of what parts of the culture have been lost over the years, and…” Merrill took a deep breath, and her large eyes seemed to reflect the pure essence of defeat. “I’d thought that if this does all turn out, it was going to be something that would finally make her proud of me.”

_“There’s a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you’re around, I swear that you could hear it, it makes such an almighty sound…”_

“I didn’t know Mother had a clone,” Carver stated bitterly, and his eyes widened as soon as he said it, in obvious horror over realising he actually had done so. “Fuck, Merrill, I’m sorry, that’s not my place to…that wasn’t right of me to say, Maker’s balls…”

“It’s alright, Carver,” Merrill replied, although she did appear to find amusement in the exchange. “From what I’ve heard about your mother, I suppose that isn’t exactly inaccurate.”

_“Louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven, and hotter than hell…”_

“Fuck that,” Fenris started suddenly. “I’m serious. Merrill, you might literally be _the_ single most accomplished person I know, and if that wasn’t enough, then _fuck that.”_

“Fenris…”

_“As I move my feet towards your body, I can feel this beat, it fills my head up and gets louder and louder, it fills my head up and gets louder and louder…”_

“Your worth is not tied to what someone who was too stubborn to look couldn’t see,” he continued more calmly.

“I think that applies to all of us,” Merrill noted, a heavy longing in her voice. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, Fenris, thank you. Oh, Hawke, she’s calling you…”

Once again she ran over to the booth for Isabela to hand off the microphone, that time with what was left of the beer she was still nursing in hand.

_“Inside your pretending, crimes have been swept away somewhere, where they can forget…”_

As expected, Isabela was quick to switch places with her, to move over to the table where Fenris was still leading the conversation.

_“Divine upper reaches still holding on, this ocean will not be grasped. All for nothing, did you really want…”_

It felt like thousands of mood shifts had torn through the group of them in just that evening, but there was something beautiful about the way Fenris snapped the way he did, the fierce loyalty shared between family.

_“Did you really want, did you really want, did you really want…”_

She thought back to how Merrill had phrased it just the night before, how they’d built themselves a “family of outsiders,” and she was immeasurably grateful to feel it truly was worth protecting.

She chugged the rest of her drink while she watched, more out of a desire just to finish it and not risk leaving any to waste. She knew that she was marking the end of her night out, but when she looked back over at the remaining group, she almost shed some guilt over the matter.

She knew Carver was right, though, about how similarly she and Merrill could speak of their mothers. She supposed, however, that it was just another reason why they had each other.

_“Refuse to surrender, strung out until ripped apart. Who dares, dares to condemn…”_

All the same, she really was ready to call it a night. So she and Anders would go home, and they would sleep or they wouldn’t; it was nearly impossible to tell which way it would go before the effort was made. No matter how it played out, though, and despite one outcome being drastically preferable to the other, they would each have the other there beside them to deal with it as it went.

_“All for nothing, did you really want, did you really want, did you really want…”_

The next day would, from there, go however it went, and she knew the possibilities for them were always endless, for as much of a burden as that could be. Still, she had someone to come home to, someone who would share that burden just as readily as she would share his. They’d see their friends—their family—again in just a few days at the absolute latest, and that unfamiliar hopeful feeling she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to crept up on her again.

Love she never earned, family she was fortunate enough to stumble upon, and more and more reasons every day to wake up every morning, no matter how hard it might get.

_“Did you really want…”_

It was all she’d ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The note about mixing vodka with Surge and then staying up all night drinking and watching Invader Zim as teenagers is definitely based on a true story or two, lul. [Keerstan](http://kayth1.tumblr.com) and I had fun when we were kids. And now we, too, are horribly dated. Oops.
> 
> Of course, so many thanks to my dear friend [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for beta reading and talking about things and just generally being an awesome human.
> 
> Special shoutout, as well, to [aladywholayswithmaidens](http://aladywholayswithmaidens.tumblr.com) for suggesting that Merrill would like Regina Spektor, to which I _immediately_ wrote in the song I did because it just felt too right.
> 
> Feel free to swing by and see me on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), too, if you're ever looking for a new landfill to follow.


	55. Pasts, Presents, Futures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD, night terrors, abandonment issues, references to death, institutionalisation, solitary confinement, psychosis, and disordered eating, as well as so much guilt and effectively using sex as a coping mechanism/distraction tactic/sort of even self-medication?
> 
> (Why do you do this, Julianna? Why do you have so many goddamn sad sex scenes?)
> 
> ["Is This Desire?" by PJ Harvey](https://youtu.be/aH0QA-m86-w)   
>  ["Driven Like the Snow" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/TU2kcxoEOT4)   
>  ["Tear" by the Smashing Pumpkins](https://youtu.be/av_2DlLeaC0)   
>  ["We Were Sparkling" by My Brightest Diamond](https://youtu.be/WT_UnGTi7DE)

Hawke was already having a restless night, so she was as ready for it as anyone could be when Anders woke up screaming.

“Love,” she whispered gently, slightly muffled against her pillow from the way she’d turned over just moments before, from how she’d been tossing about in a desperate effort to get comfortable enough to sleep, in the desperate yet unquestionably vain hope that maybe it could be a simple matter of positioning.

He was sitting, had shot upright instantly once he’d woken himself, and she tentatively shifted to carefully move a hand to his back. She could feel how heavily he was breathing and she traced delicate lines with her fingertips, relieved that he did not recoil at her touch.

“Love,” she said again, and then again, and then again, nearly in time with the way his body heaved and shook under her hand, each deeply harsh breath she could feel him trying to contain. “Love…”

“Sorry…sorry, d—”

“No,” she interrupted automatically. “No, love, don’t worry, I couldn’t really sleep, either.”

“What’s wrong, love?” Of course his concern would go straight to her, even after waking up so abruptly in such extreme panic, and she let her arm fall so she could use both of hers to prop herself up, swiftly returning it to him once she’d brought herself to sitting, as well.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Don’t worry about me, love. Talk to me.”

He responded, but his voice was so unstable, so quiet she couldn’t actually make out what he said.

“Love?”

“Don’t…don’t leave me.”

The fragility with which he spoke, the painful undertone of nervous anticipation that made him falter and sound so frail, so helpless—she had to close her eyes, to take just a second to find herself from that moment wherein her heart dropped so she could pull it back up, pull herself back to him.

“I won’t,” she assured him softly, through the crack in her own words. “I won’t, Anders, I—I’m right here, love, I’m right here with you and _I promise_ this is where I’m staying.”

Silence followed, broken only by continuing ragged breaths and the jingle of Pounce’s bell when he hopped up onto the bed in an attempt to offer some comfort to Anders, as well.

“What is it, love?” She tried again. “Why would you—”

“I’ve lost too much already,” he said uneasily. “I try…I try not to focus on it, I try…I hate saying it, I fucking hate feeling sorry for myself about it, but I…I can’t…”

“What is it, love?” She repeated. “Karl?”

It seemed the obvious assumption for the subject of nightmares that could shake him so, leave him clinging onto her as if for dear life, even if he had yet to do so physically.

“Sort of,” he answered heavily. “In reality, I lost him twice, but…but in my head…”

It sounded like he tried to bite back a sob, but it instantly got the better of him. He started shaking even harder, and she was grateful that Pounce moved with him when she pulled him in closer, when she grabbed onto him and he allowed her to shift him towards her while she adjusted herself. By the time she stilled, she was turned facing him directly in his lap, and she ran her fingers through his hair while he pressed his forehead into her neck, while he cried on her shoulder, with Pounce curled up just behind her, along Anders’s legs.

He tried so hard not to let it be, and certainly not to let it show, so sometimes she still forgot just how badly he could be triggered by death. Out of all of the things the Circle had taken from him, even after all of the things they had done to him, she wasn’t sure if there was anything he had more difficulty processing than Karl.

“When I was in solitary…”

Except, perhaps, for that.

His year in solitary confinement was the one thing he virtually never spoke of. He hadn’t mentioned it once, aside from when he revealed it had ever even happened during that meeting months ago, and she couldn’t even try to imagine what something like that could do to a person, wouldn’t even try to pretend she could grasp the weight of something so grotesquely inhumane.

He seemed to choke on his words, and all she could do was whisper his name and hold him closer, trying to give him something, something to ground him, something to latch onto, trying to keep him from losing himself to his grief.

“When I was in solitary, I saw him,” he confessed, his voice as broken as he was in that moment. “I _saw_ him and I know that sounds crazy, I know that it _is,_ fuck…I know it wasn’t him. I know it wasn’t real but when I was there, it… _that_ was all I had, and I…I learned to rely on it. He was the only company I had, barely more than just a fucking voice inside my head, but I could _see_ him. We would talk for Maker knows how long, but every time—every fucking time—he would leave and he would always tell me…he would always make sure I fucking knew it was my fault he was really gone.”

“Anders, tha—”

“I know.” His breathing wasn’t really steadying, but his voice was at least beginning to stabilise through the struggle. “Logically, I know, I even…I know _he_ didn’t blame me. The real Karl, the one I…he didn’t blame me. He knew I’d blame myself—Maker, how well he knew me—and he explicitly told me in one of his letters that I shouldn’t, that it wasn’t my fault, and that if it was, that would make him just as guilty. Still, though, some days it’s hard to remember the man he was when I had to get so fucking familiar with the version my mind made up to fuck with me.”

“You really loved each other, didn’t you?”

She didn’t expect that to cause Anders to emit another loud sob, another deeply rasped out cry against her skin, but she instantly strengthened her hold on him, desperately tightened her arms around him to the point that she did not think she could go any further, to the point that it hurt but she couldn’t possibly bring herself to care.

“Anders…love?”

She forced herself not to show guilt, not to ask him exactly what it was she must have done wrong. She knew how easy it would be for him to shift the conversation to her, to try to calm her mind when his was in such a greater state of disarray. She could not bear to let that happen, simply would not let that happen. So she only breathed with him, drawing out inhales and exhales meant to soothe him and coax him into following her lead, until he was able to speak once more.

“I never told him,” he admitted, sounding so defeated, and his arms loosened their grip, crossed along her back, and hers reactionarily tightened even more as she still worked to push herself as far as she could go. “I wanted to…Maker, I wanted to. I tried to say it _so many times,_ but I just…I never could seem to…”

“Love,” she whispered again, pouring out affection through her lips to wash it over him, to bathe him in it. “If he could read you even half as well as I can—and it sounds like he could—then he _knew.”_

“Still, I…I should have let him hear it,” Anders sighed. “What does it even matter if I couldn’t love him enough to even fucking _say it?_ What kind of person does that make me?”

“Anders,” she said more firmly, and she did not let up on the way she held him, the gentle caresses she was still able to run through his hair no matter how little room for movement her grasp allowed her. She wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. It was all she had to offer him and for as meager of an effort as it felt, it would not be taken away. “You were trapped in the middle of the fucking Void and you were just trying to find a way to survive it. Maybe you were scared, I don’t know, but it makes sense and the man you’ve described to me would _have to_ have understood that.”

“He would have hated that my mind used him against me like it did that year,” he uttered softly into Hawke’s shoulder, and she kissed the top of his head without even a thought. “He would probably have believed it was fault, that he must have done something to plant that seed…you know, you’re actually a lot alike.”

It sounded like he tried to laugh and while nothing came of it, she could feel his body begin to still, his breathing finally begin to slow, hear his voice grow steadier and steadier with every word.

“He never said it to me, either,” Anders acknowledged after a moment. “Not until the end. I don’t know if he was as afraid of it as I was or if he was waiting to hear first it or…I don’t know. I _knew,_ though. I knew without a doubt. For the longest time, that was the only thing I’d ever truly been sure of. He showed me every day and he…he told me, too, in his own way.”

“So how do you know you didn’t do the same?” She kissed him again in the same spot, straining her neck without care for herself. He’d do the same for her, after all, she knew.

“Because I—I guess I don’t know, actually.” His arms tightened around her again, much to her relief, and for a moment they only breathed each other in, closing off the world around them and taking in all they had between them in that second.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not saying it back when he finally did, though. He was so calm when they were getting him ready for transfer. I suppose he understood because I was…I was in fucking hysterics, honestly. I wanted to be stronger, to be strong for him but I _couldn’t._ I couldn’t find it, and thinking back on it now they probably had him doped up into oblivion for him to have handled it as gracefully as he did. But the last time I saw him, he looked me right in the eyes and he told me that he loved me and I couldn’t even speak. I couldn’t say a single fucking word to him, much less _those words,_ even though I’d wanted to for so long, but when my last chance came around, I fucking blew it.”

He sighed heavily, such an immeasurable weight to it, but he did not pull back from her. He kept his hold steady, used her as an anchor and that was, then and there, to her, the most important thing.

“Love,” he continued after a moment, however, when he did start moving to try to loosen her arms around him. “Love, your arms are shaking, please…”

“No,” she replied instantly, almost petulant in her reluctance to break away. “No, love, I’m not letting you go, I promise you, I’m right here with you.”

“It’s alright,” he answered quietly, moving into squirming to try to back away. “It’s alright, love, I…I know. You don’t need to hurt yourself.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she whispered without thinking, with such desperation. “All that matters is that _I’ve got you.”_

He finally got away, back as far as he could get with Hawke still sitting over him the way she was, but it was enough to release her arms. He moved forward on her in an instant, however, to cup her cheeks in both hands and kiss her so softly, so delicately, over and over again.

“Anders,” she sighed against his mouth, between breaths, just at the cusp of contact. She paused for a second and pressed her forehead against his, ran her arm back around him and her hand back into his hair. “I love you so much and I’m never leaving you, I swear I’m never leaving you, I could never leave you, Anders, know that, please, just…know that.”

“I know,” he muttered. “Love, I…I believe you. I honestly don’t know if it will ever stop fucking terrifying me, but I do, I…I know.”

He rubbed his nose gently against hers before he moved in to run his lips over hers once more and then to press into them fully, every motion so careful, so fragile, broken only by the sharp intake of breath and his harsh rasp that went along with it.

“Can I,” he started, but before he could finish his thought he stopped to kiss her again, deepening as he continued, as his hands trailed along her shoulders and into her hair. “I want…I just want to feel you, love…”

 _“Always,”_ she breathed out and into him, needing it almost as badly as he did, longing to let him in, to get as close as it was physically possible to be.

He leaned backwards from beneath her and, thankfully, Pounce took that as his cue to leave them. Anders took that opportunity to roll them over, and once he was on top of her, she grabbed his collar and surged her lips into his.

They barely broke contact even for the sake of clothing. Hawke haphazardly kicked away her pants with a little help from Anders, who didn’t even take the time to remove his completely, and neither of them bothered with their shirts.

None of that mattered. All that mattered was feeling each other inside and out, fitting together so fully, slowly rocking into each other and adoring every second of it.

They moved so slowly, so tenderly, no roughness or rush, not even that which they both usually enjoyed so much. This was not about that.

Each soft, languid, fluid motion said a million things neither of them had the words for, the way her legs stiffened around his hips to keep him close, the way their lips met, the way she ran one hand along every inch of his body within her reach, the way the other remained occupied by his fingers weaved into hers, never letting go.

It didn’t take much time, both of them so exhausted from lack of sleep, from the conversation which had preceded this, from whatever Maker-forsaken time of night it even was. Emotions were still so high among them, too, and that its own effect, its own build into the feeling between them, that closeness, escalating, elevating. It wasn’t much time at all before her head fell back in a breathy moan and he collapsed on top of her once he followed.

They didn’t do much to collect themselves, barely even moved from there, so desperate not to break away, not to lose that contact. They held each other closer and closer, lips and fingers ever trailing across skin and fabric alike, and she uttered repeated quiet reassurances until they both drifted uneasily back into unrelentingly restless sleep.

***

_“Sweetness in her golden hair said ‘I’m not scared,’ turned to her and smiled, secrets in his eyes, sweetness of desire. Is this desire enough, enough to lift us higher, to lift above…”_

“I figured I’d find you here,” Anders laughed lightly and moved to sit beside Hawke on the fire escape landing. She was on her third or fourth cigarette at least since she’d gone outside, she wasn’t entirely sure, simply looking to pass the time and maybe even distract herself from her own head.

After Anders had picked her up from work he’d had to stay downstairs since there were a couple of last minute patients in the clinic, and it didn’t take her very long to start dwelling on wherever her mind would take her, places she wished it wouldn’t, so she fed Pounce and threw on a jacket with a full pack of cigarettes and her phone in the pockets.

_“Hour-long by hour, may we two stand when we’re dead between these lands, the sun set behind his eyes…”_

“How are you holding up, love?” She asked him cautiously, feeling the slight shake of his body against hers.

“I’m just…tired,” he sighed and leaned forward to dig his elbows into his thighs and hand his head into his hands.

“And?” She pressed on, unwilling to leave him to what she knew to be only a half-truth.

_“Is this desire enough, enough to lift us higher, to lift above…”_

“I’m still pretty raw from the night, I suppose,” he shrugged a bit too casually. “Honestly…nothing I didn’t expect, though.”

_“Is this desire enough, enough, enough inside, is this desire…”_

“Do you need to talk?” She asked gently. “You know you can always talk.”

“I don’t think so,” he answered sadly. “It’s just a thing that happens, and I already talked more about it than I usually do, so…you know…”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a pause, wherein she finished her cigarette and lit another, a stark silence in which her head flooded with thoughts, ideas for what to say to try to fill it.

_“Still night, nothing for miles, white curtains come down, kill the lights in the middle of the road and take a look, take a look around…”_

“Does it bother you when I talk about him?” Anders broke that silence first, his question seemingly out of nowhere, and it sat heavily on her. “I mean, if things had gone a different way, the way I wanted it to for so long, then you—”

_“It don’t help to be one of the chosen, one of the few, to be sure when the wheels are spinning around and the ground is frozen through and you’re driven like the snow, pure in heart, driven together…”_

“Love,” she said softly, tenderly, affectionately. “I don’t care about that. He was important to you and what happened was… _deplorable,_ and that’s obviously affected you like it would affect fucking anyone. I want you to talk about it. I want you to talk about anything you ever need to talk about. I honestly hadn’t even thought of it that way, but even if—I want you to be happy, love. I just want you to be okay, whatever that means. If things had gone differently and you were happier—fine, maybe I don’t _want_ to think about it that way, for as terribly selfish as that is, but…you’re what matters, Anders. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about him because of whatever alternate reality I might be picturing. Strangely enough, I’m not. I’m just looking at you and praying I can somehow help make it easier.”

_“The sun don’t shine no more where the sky meet the ground, where the street fold ‘round, where the voice you hold don’t make no sound, look, snow on the river two by two, took a lot to live like you, I don’t go there now but I hear they sung their Fuck Me and Marry Me Young, some wild idea on a big white bed, now you know better than that…”_

“Maker’s breath, Trista,” Anders breathed out with a shake of his head. “I don’t deserve your love.”

“Bullshit.”

_“Little brittle things will break before they turn, like lipstick on my cigarette, and the ice get harder overhead, like think it twice but never, never learn…”_

She took a long drag and followed with a rough exhale, her own hands shaking from exhaustion and emotion.

“Bullshit,” she said again. “You deserve the fucking world, Anders. You deserve so much better.”

“I love you so much,” he said softly, and when she turned to look at him he barely forced a subtle smile, but even through the strain she could see how genuine its intentions were.

“I love you, too,” she offered quietly. “I love you more than words could ever say.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m going to say as much as I can, though. I’m not going to repeat my same mistakes.”

“Love…”

_“And the cars lost in the drift are there, and the people that drive lost in the drift are there, and the cares I’ve lost in the drift are there, theirs, ours, lost in the drift…”_

“How are you, though?” He asked after a moment, not quite a deflection but it worked as such all the same. “I can’t imagine any of this being easy on you, either. How are you handling everything?”

“I’m not,” she chuckled darkly and took another hit from her cigarette, no longer certain it was even the same one she last recalled lighting. “I honestly think I’ve just become numb to…any of it. After losing Bethany, I think there might only be so much I can feel.”

“Love…”

_“Driven, driven together…”_

“It’s okay,” she offered in her own half-truth. “It gives me some distance, I guess even some perspective. I’m not worried about myself and that’s alright. I don’t need to be, because there’s not enough in me left to worry about.”

_“The lights came on fast, lost in motorcrash, gone in a flash unreal but you knew all along, you laugh the light, I sing the songs, to watch you numb…”_

“Now you’re worrying me, though, love,” he said seriously, and when she went for another hit she realised her cigarette was gone. Anders looked her over for a moment and she looked back at him, and then she lit yet another.

“You don’t need to worry, I promise,” she replied, and she even believed she meant it. “Not about this. I’m not the one who needs the focus, alright?”

“I’ll trust you,” he whispered, clearly unconvinced but trying all the same. “If that changes, though, you know—”

“I know,” she smiled as best she could, although she was sure it wasn’t much. “Have you eaten today?”

“I—fuck,” he confessed wearily. “I didn’t mean to, I just…”

_“Do you know the things that I can, do you know the things that I can’t lose? Do you know the things that I can, do you know the things that I can do? Where is your heart, where is your heart gone to? Tear me apart…”_

“It’s okay, love,” she assured him. “I understand, but this…this is what I’m talking about.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he shrugged. “So should we make something for dinner or do you want to order in? I can cover it this time.”

“Good,” she smiled again, that time much more easily. “We’ll do that, then.”

_“I saw you there, you were on your way, you held the rain…”_

He looked up at her, those amber eyes gazing straight into her like she was the only thing that mattered, the only other thing in the entire world, with a warmth that washed over her, soothing, comforting, and all she could do was stare back and hope she did the same.

She stretched forward to rest her free hand over his knee, and she looked him directly in the eyes when she said, “I’ve got you.”

_“The lights came to pass, dead opera motorcrash, gone in a flash unreal in nitrous overcast…”_

They were both still shaky and it felt so much greater than it was at the touch, at the combined rattles of their bodies, stress and sleep-deprivation taking their toll, but it helped more than she could say to have him there, to know she was there with him, to connect in any and every possible way.

_“Do you know the way that I can, do you know the way that I can’t choose? Do you know the things that I can, do you know the things that I can’t lose? Tear me apart…”_

“I actually did learn a bit of good news today,” he said after a moment. “If you can keep a secret.”

There was a teasing tone that she was so thankful to hear, and he continued at her nod.

“So Isabela and Merrill may or may not have taken a trip to the viscount’s office this afternoon…with Varric as their witness.”

“Oh shit,” Hawke laughed. “That’s…great. Unexpected, but…wow, that’s fantastic.”

_“There was a silver tree down by a river wide, it’s where we used to go to hide out pretty things and watch the wind blow…”_

“Yeah, it sounds like it was Merrill’s idea,” he noted. “She just doesn’t want to hold back her life anymore.”

“I’m really happy for them,” Hawke said with an enthusiasm she could not have imagined this day would grant her. “I’ll have to make sure to tell them that once I’m allowed to know.”

_“There used to be a tree where we took our pretty things, we’d hook them by a thread…”_

“You are, don’t worry,” Anders laughed. “We’re the only ones who do, though. Just don’t tell Aveline. I believe Isabela’s exact words were, ‘I need to see the look on Big Girl’s face when she finds out we beat her to it.’”

_“And watch the light shine through, I’m afraid to forget you…”_

“Oh, Maker, I hope I’m there to see that, too.” She tossed the end of her cigarette off the fire escape without thinking, and then looked back to Anders. “I think I’m ready to head in.”

“Sounds good, love,” he agreed, and they both started shifting to stand, to go forward, to move on with the rest of their evening and whatever came next. Neither of them were quite steady, nowhere near where they wanted to be, and it was difficult to move. Their limbs had grown stiff, their whole selves heavy with the weight of their own heads on their shoulders, but they were both determined to do everything they could, if not for themselves then for each other. It was something, at least.

_“You were sparkling…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some plotting with my beautiful beta reader [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord), I also wrote a side story based around Anders's mention of never telling Karl he loved him, which can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8052814).


	56. The Light Inside, So Long Thought Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: allusions to alcohol abuse, brief references to Circle abuse and character deaths
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a fluffier one, actually.
> 
> ["Hummingbirds" by Venus Hum](https://youtu.be/v2Wc6nWutJk)   
>  ["Death Valley '69" by Sonic Youth](https://youtu.be/G1zPOcllS9Q)   
>  ["Remember" by Disturbed](https://youtu.be/OaptZgTDWEg)   
>  ["Diamonds" by Rihanna](https://youtu.be/lWA2pjMjpBs)   
>  ["Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence + the Machine](https://youtu.be/SK6U4FiAoAs)

Per Isabela’s request, everyone met up at the Hanged Man a couple of hours earlier that Saturday.

_“Some of my favourite colours in the world beat against my eyelids with the blues of green hummingbirds…”_

Merrill cheerfully hummed along to her selection from the jukebox, and Hawke suspected she knew why Isabela had been so insistent they all come out before she was working.

_“Some of my favourite colours in the world beat against my eyelids with the reds of pink hummingbirds…”_

Varric was the last to arrive despite having the shortest commute, and his shit-eating grin served as confirmation for what it was they wanted to discuss with everyone while Isabela was still free to hold a proper conversation.

“Thanks for finally gracing us with your presence,” Isabela teased once he sat himself down between Donnic and Fenris.

“You’re most welcome,” he laughed with an exaggerated bow of his head.

“Why are you like this?” Fenris joked, and Donnic laughed surprisingly hard.

“Why are any of you like this?” Carver joked back.

“Ooh, ouch, look out for Junior bringing the heat with those burns!” Varric looked directly at Carver with his sarcastic response, which Carver did not so much as dignify with a response and instead lit a cigarette and blatantly pretended he didn’t hear him.

“You’ve got to get used to it eventually, Carver,” Donnic chuckled, which Carver also elected not to hear.

_“Crane and the swan, wingspan across lake’s silver night, the ivory night…”_

“Anyway,” Isabela started, drawing out the word in unnecessarily long syllables. “Merrill and I have some…news…”

She looked uncharacteristically nervous, and Hawke glanced briefly towards Anders from her seat next to him, and she was pleased to see he was smiling almost as widely as Varric had been.

_“Some of my favourite colours in the world…”_

“Isabela and I decided we should take things between us a step forward,” Merrill explained. She appeared to be struggling with the intentionally vague nature of her wording, obviously bursting at the seams with her desire to spill the whole truth entirely. Hawke wondered if such suppression had anything to do with how Isabela had noted wanting to see Aveline’s reaction in particular, if their announcement was going to be a deliberately slow tease for Isabela’s amusement.

She’d have been lying if she claimed she wasn’t hoping for that much, at least.

“Oh, Maker’s balls, don’t tell me it’s contagious,” Fenris laughed as he glanced back and forth from Merrill and Isabela to Aveline and Donnic. “I’m going to have to get vaccinated, aren’t I?”

“You know what they say about vaccines, though, Broody,” Varric began, but he was quickly cut off by Merrill’s absolute death glare.

“Fuck you, Varric,” she retorted immediately. “I know you’re joking but that one’s not fucking funny.”

Anders and Fenris openly approved of Merrill’s response by automatically, and in unison, moving into slow claps.

_“Crane and the swan moving across green apple ponds and red apple skies…”_

“So you had good news, then, yes?” Aveline said in an effort to redirect the conversation back to Isabela and Merrill’s intended topic. “I hope you’re not expecting a double wedding, I’m just going to say that now.”

“It’s already hard enough trying to plan one just for us,” Donnic laughed, and Aveline playfully punched his arm.

“No, it isn’t,” she replied with a failed attempt to not laugh, herself. “You just need to stop expecting me to bend on your ideas for a theme.”

“Okay, sidetrack, _this_ ought to be good,” Carver interjected, and Aveline only shook her head.

“Yes, please,” Isabela exclaimed, clearly content to follow this particular instance of digression.

_“I want to be queen, I want to be marvellous, paint me the colours of…”_

“Oh come on, you know I was joking about the Game of Thrones thing,” Donnic said quietly, endearingly embarrassed over having any of it brought to the rest of the group’s attention. _“Obviously_ that was a joke, dear, you know how weddings go on that show. Like I’d really want to risk bringing _that_ kind of luck—”

“Mmmmmhmm,” Aveline interrupted. “Sure you were. Oh, you know I love you either way. Although I am still _also_ not wearing the slave Leia outfit down the aisle, thank you very much.”

“I meant _that_ for after,” Donnic mumbled, red flushing across his cheeks, and Varric was laughing so hard Hawke wasn’t sure how much breath he could possibly have left in him.

“Thank you,” he wheezed at them after a moment. “Thank you so much. That is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard…”

“I hate you, Varric,” Aveline deadpanned, even as the twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her.

“Anyway, _again,_ back to your news?” Donnic suggested, although he was also smiling in spite of himself and his often painfully awkward nature.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be impeding on your nerd fest,” Isabela chuckled. “Oh, don’t look like that, Donnic, it’s cute.”

_“Coming down, Sadie, I love it. Now, now, now, death valley ‘69…”_

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Fenris laughed in regards to the song change.

“Sorry,” Donnic shrugged, clearly not sorry for his selection at all.

“We’re not actually doing one at all, not really,” Merrill stated, moving right back into the original discussion without prompting. “Just a quick run to the viscount’s office to sign the papers, no need for anything extravagant. Not that that’s anything _against_ doing something extravagant, of course, I mean that does sound like fun and all, but it’s just not for everyone?”

_“You’re right, you’re right, you’re right, you were right…”_

“It’s alright, Kitten, you’re fine,” Isabela said soothingly, moving her arm around her. “But yeah, what she said.”

“Fair enough,” Aveline nodded. “So when’s the not-so-big day? I’m sure any one of us would more than happily go with you.”

“We already asked Varric,” Isabela noted, no longer able to hold back her beaming smile. “He went with us on Thursday.”

_“We’re deep in the valley, how deep in the gully, and now in the canyon, and now in the canyon, out in the yonder, way out in the yonder…”_

“Oh!” Aveline shouted, and the face she made in her pleasant surprise was, indeed, every bit as priceless as anticipated. “Oh, that’s…please don’t tell me I’m the last to know.”

“Nah, Red, that was just about yours,” Varric laughed.

“I still hate you.”

“I know.”

_“Hit it, hit it, hit it…”_

“No, the only other person we told was Anders,” Merrill went on. “We just thought that, well, that he _deserved_ to know…you know?”

“So Hawke knew, too?” Fenris teased, and Hawke could only shrug in response.

“Maybe a little,” she chuckled after a second.

“Well,” Aveline continued, “that’s wonderful.”

“I think we all needed to hear something like that,” Carver said sincerely.

_“And you got sun in your eyes, I got sun in your eyes…”_

“I’d offer to buy you both drinks, but it would be so rude of me to get in the way of Varric’s generosity,” Fenris added with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you agree, Aveline?”

“I’ll drink to that, too, certainly,” Aveline laughed. “Want me to get Norah?”

“I’ve got it,” Carver said and immediately stood up.

“Aww, thanks, Baby Brother,” Isabela grinned.

“Don’t make me regret being happy for you,” he teased back.

“It’s _so_ nice to see you coming out of your shell, you know,” she laughed at him as he walked off, and Hawke could have sworn she saw him smile when he turned his head back to them for just a second.

_“You wanted to get there but I couldn’t go faster…”_

“Not to state the obvious or try to bring down the mood,” Aveline spoke up, and Isabela instantly scowled at her. “But what…what brought this on? You’ve been together for, what, somewhere around seven months? Barely even longer than those two, I know that.”

Aveline wagged her finger at Hawke and Anders at the mention of “those two,” which made Hawke feel more than a little uncomfortable, although she wasn’t sure exactly why, but Merrill wasted no time in responding with utmost grace.

“About seven and a half officially, sure,” she answered easily. “But let’s face it, in reality it’s been a lot longer, even longer than you two, really.”

It was her turn to point fingers, calling out Aveline herself along with Donnic, who only nodded.

_“Hit it, hit it, hit it, hit it, hit it…”_

“That’s a fair point,” Fenris chuckled. “Maker knows how fucking painful it was to watch you two take so damn long to figure out how stupidly in love you are.”

“True,” Aveline admitted. “Hey, as long as you’re happy.”

“Big Girl is jealous,” Isabela teased in a smug sing-song voice before adding a triumphant, “I totally called it, didn’t I, Kitten?”

“You did,” Merrill grinned.

_“I love it now, now, now…”_

“Oh, Maker,” Anders added with an awkward laugh and looked directly at Hawke. “Have we really been together that long?”

“Holy shit, now that I think about it…”

“Just out of curiosity, how do you two, umm, _count_ yours?” Fenris asked somewhat nervously. “I hope that’s not out of line, I just know you had some, well, _unconventional_ beginnings…”

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Anders assured. “I mean, you’re not wrong but, well…we decided to start the count from when it…I guess when it _really_ started.”

“That Thursday, it technically was, after our first night all coming out here when I burned my wrist,” Hawke recounted, no longer even fazed by making mention of the latter detail. “After he was done making such a ridiculous fucking fuss about it, I stayed around and we ended up accidentally falling asleep on the couch watching a movie and then…even though it took a fairly significant amount of time for us to figure out our own shit from there, it just feels right and—for better or worse—it feels like _us,_ you know? The time really has flown, though, hasn’t it, love?”

_“Sensation washes over me, I can’t describe it, pain I felt so long ago, I don’t remember…”_

“Nope, never stops being gross,” Carver laughed, standing by the table with Norah in tow. “Found her.”

_“Tear a hole so I can see my devastation, feelings from so long ago, I don’t remember…”_

“How long you been standing there, Junior?” Varric teased.

“Long e-fucking-nough,” Carver replied with feigned disgust. “Anyway…”

“I hear there’s some celebration going on,” Norah smiled. “So what’s everyone having?”

“Why don’t you come join us, Norah?” Isabela suggested enthusiastically. “Come on, you know us all better than just about anyone else at this point.”

“Maker’s balls, you’re right, aren’t you? What does in the Void that say about us?” Fenris laughed, much harder than he likely meant to. “Sorry, Norah, I don’t mean to be rude…”

_“Holding on to let them know what’s given to me, given to me to hide behind the mask this time and try to believe…”_

“Nah, it’s alright, I get you,” Norah smirked. “It is true, you lot might just be a bit too close to your tavern…”

_“If I can remember to know this will conquer me, if I can just walk alone and try to escape into me…”_

“So you’ll join us, right?” Varric added onto the invitation. “Come on, take a break.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Norah said and lowered her voice. “My boss is kind of a cunt, so…”

Everyone at the table burst out laughing, and Varric himself went over to the bar to get everyone’s orders from Corff while Norah did decide to sit with them, and the group of them just talked and joked like that until it was time for Isabela to get moving.

***

_“Shine bright like a diamond, shine bright like a diamond…”_

“I’m just going to say this now, by the way,” Aveline spoke up as Isabela started singing, definitely more than a little bit tipsy by then. “You know I love you, Hawke, but _you_ are by _no means_ allowed to get married before I do, alright?”

“Ouch!” Hawke laughed through her mock offense. “Why do you have to call _me_ out like that?”

“You know why,” Aveline, Varric, and Carver all managed to say at the same time.

“Well, fuck you, too,” Hawke chuckled as she lit a cigarette, an action she immediately followed by finishing the bottle of cider she’d been working on.

“Although,” Varric started after lighting up his own, “in that case, I swear I will give you each 100 fucking sovereigns if you get married _tomorrow.”_

“No, you won’t,” Norah laughed when she reached the table with a fresh bottle for Hawke already in hand. “At least if you’ve got that kind of coin, I want a fucking raise.”

“Well, I think that’s the last time you get to drink while you’re on the clock, serah,” Varric joked.

“Ha!” Norah replied without missing a beat. “You don’t pay me enough to stay sober at work.”

_“You’re a shooting star, I see, a vision of ecstasy, when you hold me I’m alive, we’re like diamonds in the sky…”_

“I don’t feel so bad about getting too close to our tavern now,” Fenris smirked directly at Varric. _“That_ is why we like her so much, not _just_ because most of us are functional alcoholics.”

“Thanks,” Hawke told her upon taking her drink, and after handing it off, Norah turned to Fenris and took a dramatic bow before walking away.

_“I knew we’d become one right away, oh right away, at first sight I felt the energy of sun rays, I saw the life inside your eyes…”_

“Speak for yourself, Broody,” Varric noted in regards to Fenris’s last statement. “I’d say ‘functional’ might be a bit of a strong word for some of us…”

“Hey now,” Hawke interjected. “I think I’ve actually gotten mine pretty much under control.”

“Is everything alright, Fenris?” Merrill asked him seriously.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just kidding, Daisy,” Varric tried, but Fenris actually shook his head at Merrill’s question.

“I’m honestly _not_ really sure anymore,” he shrugged. Hawke thought that perhaps his initial statement really had been intended as a joke, and that maybe it was a good thing Merrill did not interpret as such.

“Come on, Broody, if Hawke can clean up then I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Varric was genuinely trying to help in his own exceptionally Varric-esque way, she knew that and it looked like Fenris knew it, too, but it didn’t stop Aveline from leaning over the table to slap his shoulder.

“Time and place, Varric,” she told him in that terribly maternal tone of hers, and it was enough to shut him up for the time being.

“To be fair, I suppose this actually _is_ the place,” Fenris added with his typical smirk, but it appeared that would be the end of that topic until later.

_“Shine bright like a diamond, we’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky…”_

“Oh hey, Fenris,” Donnic mercifully spoke up. “Did you still want to come over tomorrow night? I was going to figure out a way to squeeze you in regardless, but now our party _desperately_ needs a new tank.”

“What’s going on now?” Carver looked up curiously.

_“Apparently_ I’m not allowed to play Dungeons and Dragons with him anymore,” Aveline elaborated bitterly. “It seems I’m a ‘sore loser.’”

She even went as far as to use air quotes, which got a good laugh out of Carver.

“I’m sorry, dear, but now we have to start a whole new campaign,” Donnic retorted. _“Someone_ wasn’t too pleased over being the subject of a critical hit, and proceeded to completely ignore our dying healer to try to single-handedly take on that one necromancer instead of even _attempting_ to cover anyone else, and I’m sure you can imagine how it all went downhill from there.”

“Oh, sweet Maker, you guys are even worse off than I thought,” Varric snickered, and Aveline rolled her eyes at him.

“That son of a bitch was resurrecting _kobalds,”_ Aveline huffed. “I was not going to be killed by a fucking undead kobald!”

“Well, you _were,”_ Donnic teased, much to her chagrin. “And now we need a new tank or everyone else is going LFG on my ass, so what do you say, Fenris? You still in?”

“I’ll be there,” Fenris laughed. “Magic-infused, chaotic good, elven two-handed warrior. Work for you?”

“Works for me,” Donnic agreed. “I’ll see tomorrow, then. 6:00 at my place.”

_“So shine bright, tonight, you and I, we’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky, eye to eye, so alive, we’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky…”_

“Will you look at those two?” Aveline noted, clearly in reference to Isabela and Merrill, who were watching each other intently, making for a conveniently easy change of subject.

“We really are precious, aren’t we?” Merrill laughed, and everyone turned to look at her. “What? Let me have this one.”

_“Shine bright like a diamond…”_

“Fine by me, Daisy,” Varric smiled. “To honour the occasion, I promise not to make fun of you two and all your fucking heart eyes for the rest of the night.”

“For all the good that’s worth,” Carver chuckled, to which Varric simply shrugged.

_“Shine bright like a diamond…”_

“What about you two, though?” Merrill asked Aveline and Donnic. “In all seriousness, how are plans coming along?”

“We’re aiming to see if we can pull off a Harvestmere wedding,” Aveline grinned. “We’ve got a lot to work out before we decide on anything for sure, of course, but that’s what we’re going to try to plan for.”

“If anyone can put together whatever the fuck it is you’re going to plan in the next ten months, it’d be you two, though,” Hawke offered sincerely.

_“Shine bright like a diamond…”_

“That does sound like more than enough time for you nerds to get your shit in order,” Varric laughed. “Seriously, though—Hawke, Blondie—my offer still stands.”

“I think we’re good on that one, Varric,” Anders replied. “Thanks, though. I _definitely_ believe you about the money, of course.”

“Of course,” Fenris echoed in the same sarcastic tone.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too,” Varric chuckled and reached for a cigarette, and Hawke instinctively reached for hers, as well, but upon remembering she was going up next, she paused and then went for her cider instead.

“Maybe someday,” Anders mused aloud, and Hawke wasn’t entirely sure he meant to, especially when his cheeks flushed just slightly once he did.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “Maybe someday.”

Only a moment later, she was called forward, and she stopped to kiss Anders gently before she stood up to head to the stand.

She was sure she heard some snide comment or another from her brother, and while she truly did hope that would eventually stop, she still couldn’t help but be as amused by it as ever, especially knowing how very deliberately she’d chosen her first song.

_“I was a heavy heart to carry, my beloved was weighed down, my arms around his neck, my fingers laced to crown. I was a heavy heart to carry, my feet dragged across the ground and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown…”_

The beginning was everything she’d initially feared about following through on her feelings for Anders, and she knew were likely far too similar to his own fears in that regard. She knew, of course, that there was vastly more to it on his end than there had been hers, but it felt like a miracle to her all the same that she’d somehow managed to allow herself to get past that, that she’d somehow managed to allow herself simply to have.

_“My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles over the waterfall. I’m so heavy, heavy, heavy in your arms…”_

She couldn’t claim for a single second that she didn’t still feel that way, that such thoughts didn’t continue to overwhelm her more than she would ever dare to admit, but she knew that Anders understood. He understood her better than anyone else she’d ever known and he’d yet to turn away from her. It was almost enough to make her believe he never would.

_“And is it worth the wait, all this killing time? Are you strong enough to stand, protecting both your heart and mine? Who is the betrayer, who’s the killer in the crowd? The one who creeps in corridors and doesn’t make a sound…”_

It was worth the wait, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough but she knew beyond all else that he was. He had such a strength she couldn’t imagine, having been through so much, such atrocities of which she realised she would probably never learn all the details, and he’d come through it better than seemed possible. The Chantry was the betrayer, the killer, and they’d tried their hardest to destroy him, but there he was. It wasn’t okay, it never would be okay, but if she could be there for him to see it through even a fraction as well as he was for her…

_“My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball wrapped around your ankles over the waterfall. My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball wrapped around your ankles over the waterfall. I’m so heavy, heavy, heavy in your arms. I’m so heavy, heavy, so heavy in your arms…”_

She closed her eyes against the words, pouring her whole self into them. It was a fairly difficult song and she’d been strangely anxious about choosing it, but in that moment, nothing could have been more perfect.

_“This will be my last confession, ‘I love you’ never felt like any blessing, oh…”_

That part, however, was harshly inaccurate. It was, in reality, unequivocally the greatest blessing she’d ever received.

_“Whispering like it’s a secret only to condemn the one who hears it with a heavy heart. Oh heavy, heavy, I’m so heavy in your arms…”_

She surprised herself at how well she did, how much easier it was than she could have guessed to belt out those lines, the full intensity of every bit of emotion, every feeling great and small that she had in her.

_“I was a heavy heart to carry, my beloved was weighed down, my arms around his neck, my fingers laced to crown. I was a heavy heart to carry but he never let me down…”_

And there it was.

_“And when he held me in his arms, my feet never touched the ground. I’m so heavy, heavy in your arms. Heavy, I’m so heavy in your arms…”_

She didn’t even wait the couple of seconds left for the song to finish, absent-mindedly setting down the microphone and running back to Anders.

There was something so raw to her rush to get to him, as if he wouldn’t be right there no matter how much time she took, as if it was even really possible to take that much time to make it the few feet over to their table.

She pounced on him when she got there, surprising them both when she hastily swung her legs around and surged her body into his lap and kissed him long and hard, quickly tuning out the disgusted sounds and mocking commentary of those around her.

None of that mattered. Nothing else mattered.

They were approaching the end of Haring, leaving them with a little over a week left before First Day. She still wasn’t sure just what was coming, still wasn’t sure just how much of a difference any of this could make, but she knew she had to try. She knew this would not be the last time, no matter how poorly it might go, she knew it had awakened a drive in her the likes of which she’d never dreamed she could possess.

After what happened to Bethany, after learning about Karl, because of knowing Anders…she had to start, and she knew she couldn’t stop.

She would not let them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love and thanks and everything to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for beta reading and constantly listening to my yelling, especially re: this chapter with finally going back and configuring my timelines and _finally giving Donnic a fucking personality already._ I think I found the one that makes the most sense, at least. Even though now that I've written this I can't get it out of my head that he and Aveline just became the Ben and Leslie of Kirkwall, lul. (I have no idea why Sonic Youth, though. Everyone else's musical tastes have been very carefully constructed and make perfect sense to me, but this one was just me casually listening to music on the bus and then going "I should give this to Donnic" out of nowhere. Womp, womp.)
> 
> Also a shoutout to [un-shit-yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself) for poking me about that particular Florence song. I had already intended to use it (fun fact, that is actually _my_ favourite song to do at karaoke irl and it's even one of my best, for that matter), but it was a bit towards the back burner until she brought it up and then it felt perfect to put here so...here!
> 
> And of course, I am on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) if you ever feel compelled to delve further down into the screaming landfill that is me over there.


	57. In the Eye of a Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, references to Circle abuse
> 
> Yes, this is _that_ chapter.
> 
> ["Do You Hear the People Sing?" from Les Misérables](https://youtu.be/Zf71gy3uME4)

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

The large crowd that filled the Courtyards had broken into singing, which immediately turned to chanting those same lines over and over again. It felt right, somehow more hopeful than ominous, even if Hawke well knew that it was barely after noon, that the First Day they’d planned for had only just begun.

Merrill had picked out bandanas for everyone, and she had been delightfully excited to announce that she had also made glitter bombs. Everyone met at the Hanged Man to leave as a group, and then Hawke, Anders, Merrill, Isabela, Varric, and Fenris all squeezed themselves into Fenris’s SUV—which he had automatically defended owning by reminding everyone that he worked as a child advocate for a living and his job often necessitated a larger vehicle for emergency transport, even though no one had asked—since it had the most room and they didn’t want to take multiple cars if they didn’t have to.

Of course, Aveline had made a few last-ditch efforts over the couple of days prior to try to talk them out of it, even though she surely knew as well as the rest of them that it wouldn’t help.

On the upside, at least Lirene’s was, thankfully, closed for the holiday anyway, so Hawke didn’t have to be bothered about the fact that it was a Wednesday, since she would have been there over work regardless. She did, however, also request the rest of the week off, had even told Lirene she’d take it without pay. She had no doubt that Lirene knew why she was asking and that she had her share of concern over the event, although neither of them had said anything about it explicitly. She hoped all the same that Lirene understood on some level, understood why she had to do this, because she absolutely, staunchly, unabashedly, from the core of her whole being, had to do this.

Still, if everything went as they hoped it would, they would stay as long as they felt they needed to, and then they would all pile back into Fenris’s car and get plastered at the Hanged Man during karaoke to celebrate…whatever exactly it was they might be inclined to celebrate.

Hawke anxiously kept an eye out for Donnic or Carver, but she’d yet to spot them. Even knowing they knew she’d be there, she didn’t think that would make it any less uncomfortable to actually see them. Especially if shit did hit the fan.

She momentarily found herself wishing she believed in the Maker so she could have someone to pray to that it didn’t. She hoped that Merrill was asking the Creators. Or even that Anders had the Maker covered on his own. They didn’t ever talk about it, but she had her suspicions that despite everything, he might still have had at least something of an Andrastian streak in him.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

Hawke’s face was covered in red, Anders’s in that same bright blue the Underground liked to use, Merrill’s in a pale yellow-green, Isabela’s in gold, Varric’s in brown, and Fenris’s in a stark white. She couldn’t put into words why she’d chosen them as she had, only that each individual selection had been deliberately made, that each had called to her that they were meant for the person she gave them to.

Hawke couldn’t explain it, either, but somehow she knew that Merrill was right.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

They were as far back as they could be while still making a point to be an active part of the crowd, still putting forth an effort to blend in, knowing the last thing they needed was to stand out.

Even from their place amongst the surrounding group of what had to be hundreds of people, she could see a Chantry brother walking around them, shouting the Maker’s blessings over their singing in a loud, thick Starkhaven accent.

If this was to be their attempt at reaching some form of peace, it would bring her even greater joy than she’d previously imagined to get to watch it crumble.

“Maker have mercy on your souls…”

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

“It’s not too late! Nothing has to come of this! If you turn back now—”

“You should have thought of that before you let your precious fucking Circle kill my sister!”

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

The callback hovered over the din, elevated above all the other voices surrounding, and Hawke thought she could almost see the brother’s scowl despite his distance from her.

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” the brother shouted back, and it made her want to hit him. “But I had no hand in whatever happened, and may the Maker have mercy—”

“Fuck your mercy,” the same voice as before yelled out. “Her blood is on your hands! Her blood is on your guards’ hands! Her blood is on the Grand Cleric’s hands, the Divine’s hands, and your fucking Maker’s hands, too!”

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

Bodies began to move all around them, collective ire rapidly intensifying as each passing moment did, and it was already becoming far too easy to feel lost within the crowd, to feel trapped and suffocated. At the same time, however, she felt freer than she ever had before, the disconnect of such dichotomy overwhelming her with too many emotions to name.

Fitting, really.

“The Maker guides us to watch over, to protect our flock,” the brother retorted, anger rising audibly. “We are not here to do harm, only to—”

“Your oppression does us harm!” A different voice that time, a far away shout just as determined as the last. “Your excuses condemn us all!”

“Your oppression stems from the fear of men, not the will of the Maker!” That voice came from nearby, she knew that much even with the way the growing push of the crowd consumed her attention, firmly resolute in its booming from right beside her, from…Anders. That was Anders’s voice. “The Chantry was built by men, and it can be brought down by _the people!”_

“Well, shit,” said Varric from behind her, which she could barely make out through the cheers that followed Anders’s declaration.

“Justice!” Another distant cry, instantly followed by the echo of many.

She wondered if perhaps they recognised his words, if he’d written them down in one of his publications. She wondered how widespread they were, how many people he had touched with them.

“Justice!” More voices joined the call, while the rest of the crowd continued their chant.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

“Silence!” The brother’s patience appeared to be reaching its end, and Hawke couldn’t help but laugh to herself over how little time that took. He was moving further into the bustle of bodies so quickly on the verge of exploding, however, getting unnervingly closer to their group in particular, and it worried her to think of how likely it was that he was specifically seeking out Anders.

“Justice!” So many voices rang again, and again, and again, over and over and over.

She was so proud, and unthinkingly she slipped a hand into his.

“Dirthara-ma!” Those words came in an emphatic whisper that was unmistakably Merrill’s, and Hawke felt something swiftly, aggressively move behind her, and then only a second later watched as glass shattered atop the brother’s head and glitter poured over him.

“Kitten,” Isabela hissed, but her tone changed completely when she quietly added, “Nice shot!”

At the same time, Fenris’s arms spread around her and her friends, carefully making himself larger to offer as much coverage as he could. This gathering had already turned into a ticking timebomb, and she took a second to compose her thoughts, to remember she’d known its intentions going in, had known full well that this was exactly what she signed up for. She might have yet hoped it wouldn’t quite come to the head that was approaching, but she wasn’t naïve and she still realised its inevitability, which excited her more than she would admit, even though her heart started pounding in her chest as the hostility all across the area became palpable.

“Enough!” The brother shouted, and she could see him trying desperately to make himself enough space to move his arms, to brush broken shards and blinding sparkles out of his hair as well as he was able. “I have tried to be reasonable, to find a compromise—”

“As long as the Chantry is in power, there is no compromise!” It was Anders again, and Fenris’s arm brushed up against her in his still widening stance, and she could feel how tense they were. “For freedom!”

“For freedom!” More echoes, and with each more pride flooding into Hawke’s very soul.

“For justice!” Another collective outcry, another wave over the ongoing chants, all three calls flowing together in such a beautiful cacophony.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

“Fine, if we cannot reach a peace here—”

“There can be no peace!” Anders’s shout was once more followed by cheers, by further movement, further calls for justice.

Finally, in the moment they all knew had been impending from the start, the brother took that as his cue and forced his arm upward, and with a wave of his hand the city guard and Circle guard alike rushed into the crowd.

Aveline had not been fucking around with her warnings, that much was clear as the natural movements of the protest escalated into violence in the blink of an eye, every authoritative presence around them in full riot gear and with no holds barred.

Carver came towards her and they made eye contact briefly, and she sighed in relief when he immediately averted his and pushed the other way.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

Merrill pelted the brother with another glitter bomb while he tried to escape the chaos, and Hawke found herself cackling at it, even while Isabela was clearly starting to panic from the other side of her.

“Fasta vass,” Fenris cursed in Tevene, in response to the fists that had started flying everywhere, to the fact that the Void had broken loose outside the Gallows.

If it could do anything, though, anything at all to spark greater unrest or even simply better draw attention to the Void within the Gallows, it was worth it.

She held onto tight to that resolve, and it did not break even when one of the guards made their way straight to her, got directly in her face which—as she would have to thank Merrill again for later—had mercifully remained so well covered. She stared right through the guard in adamant defiance, holding her gaze as if trying to tell them she would not be intimidated, that she would not back down, and that fierce contact was only broken by a glass bottle that came out of nowhere and shattered over the guard’s helmet.

Hawke was elbowed in the chest when the guard reached to collect the remains of the makeshift weapon, and she felt Anders’s hand squeeze itself against hers when she stumbled back slightly, and then she felt him let go and struggle to wrap his arms around her in an immediate reaction to how that guard surged forward without restraint, how they exhibited no hesitation in swinging with those broken pieces still in hand and she was sure she would have fallen had he not moved on her so quickly when a glass-laden fist struck head on, her whole face suddenly wet and throbbing in pain.

“No, no!” Anders’s screaming lingered over her while everything else slowly started falling into a haze.

“Kaffas!”

“Shut the fuck up, Blondie, we need to move.”

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

“Not yet,” Fenris replied. “We need to wait until others start—”

“Fuck you!” Another distant, unrecognisable voice that seemed to pull the focus of the guard that had hit her, as they instantly turned around and rushed towards it. “You fucking bastard pigs, you…”

It was painful to see how quickly the event had devolved into such a state. She didn’t know if any media would even cover this at all, but she knew that if they did it would be all wrong. They were always intending this to result in a fight, those who called themselves the peacekeepers, the Maker’s chosen. They were never going to let this go down any other way, and a fair fight it was not. For as large a gathering as it was, there were more than enough guards to take them down easily.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

A different guard approached and rounded on Fenris, and they were forced backwards into another group of protesters when Fenris punched them right in the gut.

Hawke, too, was forced to turn while Anders started to move with her still in his grasp. She caught a glimpse of Isabela brandishing a knife and sporting a long but superficial cut across her cheek. Merrill had her arms raised defensively, and Hawke could see the beginnings of bruises already forming along where skin was exposed. Hawke still had to smile herself, though, upon noting the similar discolorations forming across Merrill’s knuckles and the accompanying hope that she got some in, herself.

She couldn’t see Varric, but she could hear him start to fuss in any case.

“Shit, Blondie, that’s a lot of blood…”

She instinctively raised her arms to cover her face, and the contact of skin and fabric being pressed against the gash stung like she couldn’t believe, and she closed her eyes when her surroundings started spinning.

“Fuck,” she exclaimed through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw some others beginning to clear,” Anders stated, and he no longer sounded as close to her as he was.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…”_

All the other voices, the blaring chants and cries that yet persisted all across the Courtyards, sounded farther and farther away, as well.

Another shove from behind nearly brought her to her knees, and even she couldn’t have explained what kept her standing.

“Whoa, Anders!” Varric called, although he was immediately shushed by Isabela.

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t need to shout _names,”_ she reprimanded.

 _“Especially…”_ Merrill started, with a harshness so pronounced in her voice that Hawke found it genuinely disconcerting. “If there is any one of us who has to get out of here safe, it’s _him.”_

“No, don’t talk like that, it’s alright, it’s fine,” Anders chimed in. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”

That did not do much to quell the burst of fear Hawke felt over Varric’s use of Anders’s proper name. She knew him well enough to have noticed that, with the exception of Hawke herself, he only did that when he was truly worried for that person. Although she also realised right then, as she desperately tried to think of anything, to keep her head clear when it so greatly did not wish to be, that this tendency might explain why she’d never even gotten one of his nicknames to start with.

“Agreed,” Fenris added, presumably in reference to Merrill’s remark. “Still, I think he’s right, I think we can—”

“Fuck!” That might have been Isabela, but it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish anything.

She felt herself being jostled around as her friends started trying to get out of the crowd, unwilling to open her eyes again even as they pushed her through, even as using her vision would obviously have done her a great service, a thought that was confirmed when she was surprised by something or someone ramming into her side.

“Love,” Anders shouted as they both moved backwards, still standing. “Fuck, I knew this was a bad—”

“I knew what the fuck I was getting into,” she seethed for a second, fuelled by the sharp stabbing pains tearing through her, glad her covering was already red but sure of how heavy it must have become, fearful for how much longer it might stay in place.

“Fuck, hey,” called another voice, a voice she knew she recognised but couldn’t seem to place. “Shit, I…I can’t do this, you fucking know I can’t do this…”

“Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see us?” Merrill asked whoever it was. “Or that something else caught your attention? Come on…”

“I can’t, too many eyes, I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now, but…oh, fuck it,” replied the frustratingly familiar extra presence who kept moving with them. “I need one of you to hit me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Fenris asked. “What is this, some shit movie trope, or—”

“Not hard, I don’t need marks, I just need someone to push me back well enough to look convincing so fucking _Meredith_ doesn’t think I just let you run off when I’m this close, alright? It should buy enough time for you to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck is Meredith?” Isabela, that was definitely Isabela, she was sure of it that time.

 _“She_ might know a little bit, I’m not sure—oh shit,” the other party paused for a moment, and she assumed she must have looked even worse than she felt. “I don’t know how much he’s said, but Meredith is Carver’s boss and she is…fuck, I can’t even put her into words. ‘World’s greatest ableist shitbag’ would be a good start, but it really doesn’t _quite_ capture it.”

Donnic. It was Donnic’s voice. Of course it was.

“You _need_ to get out of here _now,”_ Donnic insisted. “She’d lock any one of you away in a heartbeat and she’d probably order the full wrath of the Void down on you for finding you _here_ while she was at it.”

“Alright, keep moving, I can make this look convincing.” That might have been Varric, but sounds were getting fuzzier. Probably for the best she didn’t try to see, in that case, however detrimental neglecting to do so would yet be.

“Whatever, just go,” Donnic reiterated. She felt another push from behind her, and then the rapid movement of more people in that same direction, and then she was being pushed forward, forced to move faster.

The singing and shouting grew more distant, less coherent, but she couldn’t be sure if it was because they were getting farther away or because of her apparently disastrous head wound.

She lost traction with every step, unsteadiness increasing with every inch they moved, until she was abruptly halted after nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Love, hey,” Anders said gently. “Love, can you open your eyes? We’re almost there.”

She tried to, she swore she tried so hard, but in that moment it felt like she would have better luck trying to part the Waking Sea.

“Are they open yet?” She tried to laugh, but that was every ounce as impossible as looking, and she felt herself sway just slightly in its place.

“Shit,” Anders whispered.

“We’re close enough, we’ll get to the car and swing back around for you,” Fenris offered. Or at least it made the most sense for it to be Fenris considering the context.

“Sounds good, Rivaini,” Varric added. She was sure of that much, despite how miserably her ears were ringing, that the nickname indicated the speaker in question that time was certainly Varric.

Of course that would mean the suggestion came from Isabela, who obviously sounded absolutely nothing like Fenris. That was not reassuring.

It sounded like the jingling of keys followed, as well as a shout of, “I’m staying with them!”

“Do you _really_ trust him with your car?” Anders, perhaps, chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Not even a little bit,” probably-Fenris laughed back. “But you know, desperate times…”

“Fair enough.”

She was no longer bothering to differentiate between voices. They all sounded the same, nearly drowned out by that incessant ringing anyway, and shifting her focus towards anything by that point only made her head pound even harder.

“Besides, he’s driven yours.”

“Yeah, but if you sold _my_ car for all it’s worth, it probably wouldn’t even get you a cup of cof—love, are you alright?”

“Maker, she looks pale. Is it _normal_ to bleed _that_ much?”

“For a head injury, yes, they do tend to— _love,_ hey, talk to me.”

She opened her mouth to speak but almost doubled over at the way her stomach lurched when she’d been looking for words.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she slurred. She wasn’t sure if it was even loud enough to hear, much less clear enough to understand, but it was all she had. Her head was too much, the pulsating and that constant high-pitched, ear-splitting reverberation taking over.

“Ever had worse than _this?”_

“Arguably…but is that _really_ —oh shit, come on, love…”

“Come on, come on, come on!”

She was being moved again, one arm flung over a shoulder.

“Fuck, can you—”

“On it.”

Her other arm was flung over another shoulder and they moved again, somehow simultaneously much too quickly and far too slowly, which seemed to line up all too perfectly with how lightly heavy, how heavily light she was.

“It’s right there, love, we’ve got you…”

She didn’t remember getting into the car, neither did she remember anything about the ride home. The next thing she knew, she was curled up in a clinic bed and she felt like her face was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I kind of stepped pretty far out of my comfort zone with this one, not gonna lie. A more action-centric chapter wherein I actually put this Hawke through something I _haven't_ personally experienced! Is this growth? Lul. Of course, though, such copious hamfisting of Les Mis lyrics makes everything better. Also glitterbombs.
> 
> "Dirthara-ma" means "may you learn" as a curse.
> 
> I am also [becauseanders](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, for further trashpit goodness. :)


	58. What Matters Most, Keep It Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a fair bit of tension and anxiety, some very-maybe potentially squicky medical stuff, references to Circle abuse, mentions of Bethany and Malcolm, a couple of jokes referring to Hawke's history of tendencies towards alcohol abuse
> 
> No music this chapter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Anders’s panicked voice broke through her daze, along with the sudden sensation of pinpricks across her cheeks. Her head was still spinning when she opened her eyes, but the pain slowly began to numb.

“Well, that was a fucking shitshow,” Varric stated bluntly.

“I told you, dammit, I fucking _told you,”_ Aveline added, frustration teeming through her tone.

“I should…I should probably call Lirene once I’m done with…with this,” Anders said hesitantly.

“What the _fuck_ are you going to tell your mother?” Aveline asked roughly. “Maker’s balls…”

“I can make something up easily enough, don’t worry about that,” Carver replied nonchalantly. “She got drunk and fought with a stranger or some shit like that, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Oh fuck,” Hawke let slip at the sound of her brother’s voice.

“It’s alright, love,” Anders said softly. “It’s alright, just…stay still for me, okay?”

“Uh, okay…” She closed her eyes again, or they closed for her. She didn’t really feel like she actually had any control over the matter.

“Keep her talking,” Anders commanded, a desperate, demanding air the likes of which she was entirely unfamiliar with coming from him, not even remotely similar to how he sounded whenever she wanted him to order her around in bed, which was pretty much the only time she heard him take on much of an authoritative tone at all. “Fuck…”

She felt a pressure over her, and it felt so strange with the feeling in her face of…not exactly feeling at all. She wasn’t sure how to describe it, aside from uncomfortable.

 _“Keep her fucking talking!”_ Anders shouted that time, and she involuntarily shuddered at how deeply unnerving it was to hear him speak like that.

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay,” he continued, moving his focus back to her. “Just keep still, alright? I need you to keep still. Although it actually might not be the worst idea for you to not to look right now, just…everyone’s here, love, talk to them. I need you to talk to _them.”_

“Mmhm…”

“Happy fucking First Day,” Carver deadpanned.

“You had to know it would get like this, Anders, you _had to_ know—”

“Don’t fucking talk to me right now, Aveline,” Anders snapped back, and the pressure on her momentarily lifted. “I need to fucking concentrate and you guys are _not fucking listening.”_

That pressure returned as soon as he was done yelling, however, and she realised he must have been doing something terribly important, so she forced herself to remain quiet despite how greatly she wanted it to stop.

“Wait, love, hold on,” she spoke up after a pause of indeterminate length, surprised by her own coherence. “Should I be…ah…completely still or should I be…or should I be…be talking?”

 _“Yes,”_ Anders answered gently. “I _need_ you talking, love, just…very carefully, okay? Stay as still as you can, but keep talking.”

The pressure resumed, although she hadn’t even realised it had ceased again until it came back.

“That was an interesting ride, at least,” Varric laughed. “I’ve never seen you like that sober, Hawke.”

“Oh good,” she drawled out before moving into a strained hiss. “What the…what fuck are you…is he…ah…”

“Your face is a fucking mess,” Carver noted, trying to keep his tone light. “Even worse than usual.”

“Fuck you,” she retorted, and she hoped it didn’t sound quite as slurred to everyone else as it did to her.

“Eh, just a few stitches, no big deal,” Isabela chuckled. “It adds character.”

“It looks like that’ll need more than a few stitches to me,” Aveline said, no humour in her voice at all. “That’s going to scar, isn’t it?”

 _“Probably,”_ Anders replied tersely.

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Aveline added with the same level of irritation. “From what I hear, _you_ were the one who got so fucking overzealous that—”

“He was _awesome,”_ Hawke smiled despite herself. “Love, that was…that was fucking awesome…”

“More carefully than that,” he told her cautiously, and she intentionally let her face fall at his words.

“No, Aveline, we were all there,” Merrill said. “We all had our place.”

“All that fucking glitter,” Hawke noted in an effort to continue with Anders’s instructions.

“Not gonna lie, the look on Sebastian’s face was absolutely fucking priceless,” Carver chuckled, and Hawke figured that must have been that obnoxious Chantry brother’s name.

“How’s Donnic?” Hawke thought to ask, suddenly recalling his presence towards the end of their ordeal.

“He’s fine,” Aveline sighed. “He faked an injury after helping you assholes out. He’s probably at home playing video games right now.”

“He moved in yet?” Hawke continued quietly, striving towards the balance of both of Anders’s seemingly contradictory requests.

“Yeah, he is,” Aveline answered, and she seemed to be calming as the conversation went on. “His lease ended yesterday so he’s all set up with me now. Which means D ‘n’ D’s going to be there from now on, too, Fenris.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Fenris said casually. “Does this mean you’re going to be sitting there glaring at us the whole time?”

“Maybe,” Aveline managed with a small laugh. “We’ll see.”

“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” Hawke said slowly.

“I think _that_ is probably going to be a while,” Varric chuckled. “Looks like that face of yours is going to take some time.”

“Ah, fuck me…”

“How’s yours, emma lath?” Merrill asked, presumably to Isabela.

“It’s fine, Kitten, nothing a little concealer can’t handle,” Isabela answered lightly in confirmation.

“Oh shit,” Hawke thought out loud. “Is every…is everyone else okay?”

“You _definitely_ got the worst of it,” Fenris told her.

“Just some scrapes and bruises for the rest of us, I think,” Merrill added. “We’re all fine, Hawke, don’t worry about us.”

“I don’t know, Daisy,” Varric spoke up. “Blondie got quite a—”

“Nothing a little concealer can’t handle,” Isabela repeated. “I can pick some up for you if you’d like, Anders.”

“Oh no, love, are you—”

“I’m fine, love,” Anders whispered. “Believe me, I’ve had much worse.”

“Oh yeah, you said that…”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Fenris interjected in prominent relief. “We weren’t sure about just how, well, _there_ you actually were for most of—”

“Anders already said it probably looks a lot worse than it really is,” Merrill cut in. “She’ll be okay. Right, Anders? She’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Merrill,” Anders said just before the pressure seemed to increase again. “You’re okay, love. I’m almost done here.”

“How’d you get out, Carver?” Hawke asked as realisation hit her.

“Donnic found me right after you guys left,” he replied flatly. “I was already arranging to leave by then, though. After I saw you, I just…I appeared to magically hear my phone ring, told someone I had a family emergency, and I got going as soon as I could manage it.”

“Not really a lie, I suppose,” she replied, her words becoming clearer and clearer with each one she spoke.

“Yeah,” Carver laughed. “I’m not 100% sure precisely what the emergency was _story-wise,_ but…well…”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Hawke mused.

“Yeah,” Carver said again.

“We still doing the Hanged Man tonight?” Hawke joked, already aware of the fact that she knew the answer.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Varric mocked. “Blunt force trauma to the head and blood loss followed by a night of drinking, what could _possibly_ go wrong!”

“We’ll understand if it’s just Isabela and me tonight,” Merrill noted. “You just take care of yourself, Hawke.”

 _“You_ take care of her, Anders,” Aveline laughed. “Maker knows we can’t tru—”

“Oh, come _on,_ Aveline,” Fenris interrupted. “Give her a fucking break for once.”

“Yeah, _Mother,”_ Hawke added. “What he said.”

“Okay,” Anders whispered and the pressure lifted once more. She felt him step away and then return a few seconds later, and then she heard what sounded like scissors as she felt a small pull on her cheek. “Okay, that’s done. You can open your eyes now, love.”

Fortunately, the room actually stayed in place that time, as she ever so slowly did as he suggested.

“Can you sit up for me, love?” He asked once she was looking at him.

“I think so,” she answered and then, just as slowly, shifted her weight onto her elbows. Anders had to help her from there, as she was still a bit too unsteady on her own, still just woozy enough to have difficulty finding her bearings by herself. “I’m good, love…I’m good. I can’t feel my face, though.”

“Don’t worry, I did that one,” he smiled, but her freshly opened eyes were immediately drawn to the large bruise that took up most of his left cheek and went far enough up that it disappeared into his hair.

“Oh shit, love, your—”

“Like I said,” he cut in, clearly aware of precisely what she was looking at, “I’ve had worse.”

“Speaking of which,” she started nervously. She carefully glanced around the room and saw that, while no one who was with them in the thick of it had walked out unscathed, Fenris was right that she’d gotten its worst, and while Anders was certainly next in line, there was a pretty long drop off from there. “When, umm, when’s the next one?”

 _“Hawke,”_ Aveline said sternly. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me, I—”

“She’s right, this was…this was _a lot,”_ Anders agreed. “You’ll be alright this time, but for fuck’s sake, love, I just had to stitch your fucking face back together _as a start_ —I honestly have no idea how your nose isn’t broken, by the way—and I—”

“Hawke resilience,” Carver laughed. “We’re way too fucking stubborn to be taken down that easily.”

“That’s why there’s only three of us left, right?” Hawke snapped at her brother automatically, and she could see him ready to retort, so she put a stop to it instantly. “No, you know just as well as I do that Bethany _and_ Father would still be here if—”

“Later,” Aveline cut in. “We can get into this later, alright? I’m fucking sorry I said anything, Maker…”

Hawke looked to Anders, who didn’t have anything else to offer, who only removed his nitrile gloves to dispose of them, and she saw that they were completely covered in blood.

He appeared to be vaguely alarmed when he pulled up a chair to sit down beside the bed, when he looked her right in the eyes, and the sight of it was mildly unnerving.

“Alright, love, I’m just going to tell you this now,” he said delicately yet disconcertedly. “Aveline was right before, too, that you probably _are_ going to have a scar. Probably a pretty substantial one, at that. That fucker got you good, I won’t lie.”

“To be fair, it looks pretty badass,” Varric chuckled.

“Not now,” Aveline hissed.

“He’s not wrong,” Isabela chimed in. “Oh come on, Big Girl, it’s like I said. Character.”

Fenris laughed and Merrill smiled, although neither of them added anything, while Aveline and Carver remained entirely stone faced.

It made her feel a bit claustrophobic, the way the latter parties were looking at her, in a room full of people far greater in number than the space comfortably allowed.

Still, she reached for Anders, and he took her hand and held it tight, and that was enough to ground her in that moment.

“Hey, Kitten,” Isabela said, and Hawke suspected she was simply reading the room to take her cue. “I think we should get going.”

“But we don’t have to be there until—”

“Yeah, but we should probably both shower and decompress for a bit, don’t you think?”

“Yeah…”

“Hey, wait,” Anders said as it looked like they were going to make their exit. “Not before I give you _both_ a proper checkover, alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Isabela laughed. “Should we just find an empty room?”

“That works,” he agreed. “I’ll be there in a few.”

They made quick rounds to say goodbye to everyone and then headed out into the hall.

“Fenris, Varric,” Anders sighed, looking over his shoulders. 

“I’m fine, Anders, really,” Fenris replied, and Varric nodded to indicate he felt the same.

“Please—”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can just ask one of your people on my way out,” Fenris noted, and Varric only nodded again.

“Fair enough,” Anders agreed.

She knew he’d had Lirene send over more people than usual, that he’d made a point to get more experienced hands, as well, given the circumstances. He was closed for everything but emergencies for the holiday, anyway, per his prior promise to Lirene. He wasn’t sure, however, how many such emergencies he might be in for, how many others might come in from the Gallows, as well. He hadn’t expected to be at the rally for very long, after all—in fact none of them had, and in reality they probably weren’t. She figured that meant it all worked out to at least some degree.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Aveline announced, and she also left after a short run of parting sentiments.

“I still need to check _you_ out a bit further, too, love,” Anders noted while others started filing out.

“Ayyyyyy,” Varric still had to make a point to shout as he went through the door.

“Carver, you?” Anders stopped him before he could follow suit.

“I’ve got so much fucking kevlar on under here, I _really_ don’t think you need to worry about me,” he answered with a sincere smile. “Thanks, though.”

“Can you stay for just a few more minutes while I look over Merrill and Isabela?” Anders quickly stopped him again. “It’s definitely mild, but a head injury is a head injury and I’d just feel safer if—”

“Of course,” Carver interrupted. “Thank you, Anders.”

“Of course,” he echoed, squeezing Hawke’s hand and carefully kissing her forehead before letting go and getting up to tend to the others, and she was pleasantly surprised that Carver didn’t make a single sound about it.

“So how bad does it look?” She laughed once Anders departed and Carver took over his seat. The feeling in her face was already just starting to return, however, and moving it in such a way produced a faint stinging sensation.

“Oh Maker, it’s all…” He trailed off and ran his thumb from under the far corner of one eye to the other, moving all across and barely an inch below the bridge of his nose, showing her where it would be more impactful than telling.

“Shit,” she still laughed, not sure why she found it amusing, although she figured it was at least a positive response. “I should probably start compiling a list of all the best stories I can come up with for how I got it…”

“I would just stick with bar fight for Mother,” Carver shrugged with a smirk. “Hey, it’s believable.”

She started to scowl but her face fought her, so she simply rolled her eyes at him instead. She knew he wasn’t wrong on that count, but if nothing else, it didn’t make her feel any less dreadful of how such a conversation would go.

“What are you going to tell her about who patched you up?” Carver asked after a moment, and when her eyes widened, the skin beneath them felt terribly stiff. “Obviously, I’m not going to—”

“Thanks,” she said softly, mind buzzing slightly. It was a strange feeling, however, to find gratitude in the noise coming only from a place of emotion, in contrast to the uncontrollable ringing that had assailed her not long before.

“Hey, you okay?” Carver spoke up again when she shook her head thinking on his previous question and then quickly pressed a hand against her forehead in response to the brief pain that resulted.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, or at least she tried to. “I suppose a bit of a headache makes sense right now, doesn’t it?”

“I’d imagine, yeah,” he laughed. “I’m, umm, I’m glad you have him.”

Carver awkwardly cocked his head towards the exam room, a gesture which was somehow surely meant to indicate Anders, and she pushed her own impending laugh through her nose in the hope that might be easier.

“I mean,” he continued, looking a bit flustered. “I’m glad you have a doctor so readily available with all the…”

He trailed off and waved a hand wildly around his face, which made it even harder not to laugh properly.

“What?”

“It’s okay, Carver,” she smirked just slightly. “You’re doing that thing where you’re nice again. You are _allowed_ to do that, you know. Hey, keep it up and one day I might even reciprocate.”

“Sod off,” he answered quickly, but with a wide grin far warmer than anything she was used to seeing out of him. “Seriously, I’m glad you’re alright. It looks like he’s a good doctor, too. I think it was hard because it’s you—and because I think I’ve figured out by now _just_ how like Father he really is—but he never lost his focus, I could see that much. He’s good for you, Trista, and it looks like you’re good for him.”

“Thanks, Carver,” she said softly, taken aback completely. “That’s—”

 _“And_ because I have no idea how the fuck you’re going to keep that thing clean,” Carver interrupted, both of them a bit bewildered by such an emotional moment between them, especially one where anger was not once included. “He seemed a bit concerned about how close it is to your eyes, so—”

“I love you, too, Carver.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Are they okay?” Hawke asked without hesitation the second Anders opened to door to go back in.

“Yes, love, it’s like Merrill said,” he nodded. “Pretty much just scrapes and bruises. I cleaned out a few scratches and abrasions for safety’s sake, but there really wasn’t anything to worry about. Focus on yourself right now, okay?”

“I’d ask what you did to provoke such a response, but…” Carver was obviously looking for a joke, but he couldn’t find one. “Fuck, the same exact thing probably would have happened to _anyone_ standing in that spot at that time.”

“Pain in the ass older sister or not?” She tried to offer his plan for humour a lifeline, but it fell just as flat as the initial attempt.

“You _are_ a huge pain in my ass, Maker knows,” he chuckled before taking a pause and a hard swallow. “But you’re also right, more often than I like you to be. You scared us today and I can’t say I _like_ the idea of you doing something like that again, but I guess that’s why you should. _That_ and…Bethany and Father, too, yeah. There was no reason either of them had to die the way they did. No reason except—”

“All due respect, Carver,” Anders cut in nervously. “I don’t think this is necessarily the _best_ time.”

“You’re right, Anders, sorry,” he replied as he stood up and offered his seat back to Anders.

“For the record, there is _not_ another one coming any time soon,” Anders exhaled upon sitting back down. “Neither is anything currently being planned as far as I’m aware. And I would be aware.”

“Good to know,” Carver nodded genuinely.

“I, umm, appreciate the thought, though, believe me,” Anders smiled at Carver hesitantly. “More than you know.”

“I think I know well enough,” Carver replied. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, unless you need me for anything else.”

“I do still need to give your sister a bit of a more thorough look over now that we’ve gotten the scary part out of the way, but I think after that we’re just going to head home, thank you,” Anders answered with another small smile. “I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”

“I know you will,” Carver acknowledged gratefully.

“Unless you’d like to come over,” Anders added, but Carver shook his head.

“Ah, come on,” Hawke laughed despite herself. “You can meet my step-son.”

Anders’s face positively lit up while Carver just shook his head again.

“Are you talking about the fucking cat?” He chuckled, and Hawke shrugged. “I’m more of a dog person, but thanks.”

“He may or may not have a mabari tattoo…”

“Dammit, Trista,” Carver immediately snapped, and all three of them followed with a short burst of varying degrees of laughter. “I was young and—”

“And _very_ Fereldan,” Hawke smirked.

“Eh, you know,” Carver noted in a monotone. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys later, alright? Maybe Saturday, or…well, just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” Hawke nodded, and she and Anders both stood, and then she watched in further surprise when Carver instantly pulled Anders into a tight embrace, held long enough for a hushed exchange, whispers loud enough that she could hear them at all but quiet enough that she could not make out a single word between them.

He let go and proceeded to say goodbye to Hawke in a similar manner, but the only words he offered her were, “Take care of yourself.”

Once Carver stepped out Anders finished examining her, finding only a few large bruises around her chest and sides. He was right that the scarier part of this particular edition of Hawke as his patient had passed, and with that they went upstairs to try to relax as best they could.

They changed into pajamas and then sat down on the couch with Pounce, just as they would any other day, and deliberated what they should watch.

“Wait,” Hawke spoke up as they browsed through her profile on Aveline’s Netflix account via the Apple TV which Aveline had gotten Anders for Satinalia. “I’m gonna head into the bathroom real quick to see…I want to see what this looks like.”

He leaned into her and gently kissed her forehead. “Want me to come with you?”

“I don’t think there’s _room_ for both of us in there, love,” she said quietly, more anxiously than she anticipated. “It’s alright, I’ll, umm…I’ll be right back.”

She nervously walked into the tiny bathroom and flipped on the light switch, and then she took a deep breath before she turned towards the sink, to look into the mirror just above it.

Carver hadn’t been joking about just how far the mark spanned across her face, going almost through its entire width. She’d had no idea she could have been hit quite like that, did not remember the blow striking her that thoroughly. It had been a much quicker instance to her recollection, at least, and more of a punch than a slash. For all she knew, though, it could even have been both in rapid succession, as she assumed that with such an impact, a spotty memory of the event probably was not an unlikely occurrence.

Anders did a remarkable job of closing it, considering how bad its initial appearance sounded from her friends’ worries, but she could also see why he was concerned about scarring. She realised even simply from how it felt that it must have been a fairly deep cut, and of course he could only do so much.

She understood, however, that he was a doctor and not a miracle worker, just as she understood that such a result was, as she imagined she would yet have to keep reminding everyone, a risk she had been willing to take, and one that she would not shy away from taking again if and when the opportunity was next presented.

With that thought in mind, she felt oddly proud of it, of her battle scar so unlike those she was accustomed to wearing. She knew she’d never be able to tell the truth of how she acquired it to anyone who didn’t already know, the only possible exception being Lirene and even then she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t sure she cared. She knew, and that would have to be enough.

Anders was already looking over his shoulder for her when she came back out to join him in the main room, his eyes wide in anticipation for her reaction.

“Well?”

He looked so worried, and all she could do as she sat back down beside him was lean in to kiss the tip of his nose, and then his forehead, and then she carefully touched her forehead to his and closed her eyes, for just one quick moment before she pulled away and opened them again, to look at him with all the assurance she could offer.

“I think I should get a septum ring,” she told him with a smirk. “I feel they’ll complement each other nicely.”

“Love…”

“I’m serious,” she said with a small smile. “Love, I don’t _care._ I’m proud of what we did today, even if it was one small effort, it’s still better than not doing _anything,_ and it’s hopeful to know there are that many other people out there who actually give a fuck about this cause. Besides, I already kind of wanted one anyway. This just makes it feel all that much more appropriate.”

“Maker,” Anders shook his head, but he couldn’t hide his relief over how well she was taking everything. “I’m sorry I freaked out a bit down there, I don’t usually do _that_ much shouting with my patients, but—”

“I know, love,” she nodded carefully. “I know.”

“I should probably bandage that up for now,” he noted, picking up tightly plastic wrapped supplies from downstairs she hadn’t noticed he’d laid out on the coffee table. “I just figured you might want to see it first.”

“You _do_ know me far too well,” she chuckled lightly, and he cautiously maneuvered a few lengths of gauze across her cheeks and over her nose, and he took his time taping it down at the ends.

“I hope you don’t mind if we stay up a bit late tonight,” he said delicately once he finished. “I want to watch out for you as long as I can, alright? I’d rather take every possible precaution since you probably do have a concussion, and you should also keep in mind for the future that getting one makes you more susceptible to getting them later on, and—”

“Is this Dr. Cousland recounting his vast array of medical knowledge, or is this Anders speaking from personal experience?” Her brow furrowed with her question, with his claims of having had worse than possibly even what she’d endured that day.

“They’re not mutually exclusive, you know,” he sighed. “And yeah, uh, this one would be both.”

 _“Have_ you actually had worse than this?” It was his brow that furrowed when she asked that time, his tired eyes blinking rapidly for a moment, the wheels turning behind them.

“I have, yeah,” he admitted quietly after a moment. “So at least I know _exactly_ what to look for, right?”

He gave a small laugh, more for his sake than even hers, she thought, something to try to take the edge off of the reality.

“So,” she started again, watching him closely. “When _is_ the next one?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know, love,” he nearly whispered. “We’ll just have to jump off that bridge when we get to it, alright? We’ll discuss it when it comes.”

“Alright, love,” she agreed. “Order in tonight?”

“Sounds good,” he nodded.

“Can I have a cigarette yet?” She tried with a slight accidental whine, and he rolled his eyes with an amused huff.

“I’ll come out with you,” he said. “Just…be careful with your face, okay?”

“Okay.”

They started moving to make their journey out to the fire escape, and he grabbed her once they were both standing and pulled her in close, still making an obvious point to mind her stitches even in his sudden desperation to hold her.

“I love you so much,” he told her, his voice as fragile as his grasp was tight.

“I love you, too,” she uttered over his shoulder, resting her chin carefully against it to keep her wound from brushing against him. “More than anything, Anders.”

He broke away after a moment and let her grab her things, and he was just turning off the television when she walked back into the room.

“You know,” she said affectionately, with as much of a smile as she could muster when he turned towards her. “We haven’t watched Velvet Goldmine in a while.”

“You’re right,” he smiled genuinely at that, his eyes almost as alight as they were when she’d mentioned Pounce to Carver back at the clinic. “Good call, love.”

“Your face is a good call,” she laughed, happy to see the light in his expression only growing, to see the tension finally begin to ease out of him.

“If you say so, love.”

“I do, love. I really, really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra special shoutout to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for not only the usual beta read and overall being my partner in crime, but also for being a really super awesome friend and helping me out a lot through some personal setbacks over the past few days (tbh even finishing this chapter would probably have taken _a lot_ longer without her just being there).
> 
> And of course, this here garbage pit also has a whole landfill over on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), if you are ever so inclined. :)


	59. The Weight of the Slip, of the Thread, of the Tick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: various references to and discussions of Kinloch, Danarius, Karl, Bethany, abuse, lost childhoods, and some general tension and anxiety
> 
> ["The Garden" by Mirah](https://youtu.be/ZgCKQU_-PsA%22)   
>  ["Incendiary Lover" by Christian Death](https://youtu.be/weZzOyh8MOQ)   
>  ["Dub the Frequencies of Love" by Gogol Bordello](https://youtu.be/7Q0kUEiTOwY)   
>  ["Cold War" by Janelle Monáe](https://youtu.be/lqmORiHNtN4)   
>  ["This Place Is Haunted" by Devotchka](https://youtu.be/B__P5e5TFEg)

_“Oh-oh, I really wanted that thing. I just want to sing. I love you, baby, won’t you bring all the flowers you find out in the garden. Don’t tell me the truth that your heart has hardened…”_

Everyone went out to the Hanged Man as usual on Saturday, the only real change of the night being the explicit consensus that Hawke was still not to touch a drop of alcohol for the sake of “better safe than sorry,” a phrase which she’d lost count of how many times it had been repeated to her throughout the day.

She couldn’t find it in her to complain, though, not really. It felt a small concession in comparison to the reason why her safety was in such question, and she saw it as a chance to prove herself, to show them all that she had learned to take better precaution in terms of her own well-being, for whenever the event leading to this occasion of teetotaling might come up again.

Merrill was up first, making a strong point to mention that her selection was not at all an indication of any actual personal feelings, just that she really liked the song, a clarification which Hawke had found oddly refreshing.

“Any plans for your birthday, Hawke?” Varric asked as he lit a cigarette. It was, indeed, coming up fairly soon, but she realised she hadn’t put a single ounce of thought into it until just then.

“Oh, umm…I guess not?”

_“But you don’t want me anymore, how can it be? Look what you’ve done to me, oh…”_

“Oh shit, what happened?” Norah asked when she approached the table, cutting off further query for at least the time being. “Are you okay there, Hawke?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she shrugged casually. “Got mauled by a bear. You should see the bear.”

“Aaaaaaaalright, then,” Norah laughed. “No further questions. Well, aside from what everyone’s having, of course.”

“Just water for me,” Hawke answered first, awaiting Norah’s response to that additional detail.

“Okay, now you’re worrying me,” she teased, but quickly moved on to take everyone else’s orders.

The tavern was packed that night, and they all assumed it was simply a result of being the first weekend of the new year, allowing most people’s holiday celebrations to continue for a few extra days. Varric was obviously delighted to see business thriving as it was, even if everyone else found it unreasonably annoying to have to share their weekly ritual with so many strangers.

_“Oh-oh, the bee does quickly sting, I was wondering if you could maybe, darling, think. I’d give everything if you’d grant my love a pardon, and all the fruits again would fill the garden…”_

“How soon?” Anders asked, moving the topic back to Varric’s inquiry.

“Wait,” Aveline chuckled. “You mean to tell me you don’t know?”

“Now that you mention it,” Hawke added as she turned towards Anders, “I don’t know yours, either.”

“What in the Void is the matter with you two?” Carver mocked.

“It’s just…never come up, I suppose,” Hawke answered in a deadpan, unsure how else to proceed. “I’m just going to assume I’ve missed yours, haven’t I, love?”

“Maybe,” Anders said awkwardly. “I, umm, legitimately don’t actually remember exactly when it is.”

“How can you not—never mind,” Carver started and stopped in an instant.

_“Look what you’ve done to me, oh-oh…”_

“Did your father know his?” Anders asked, apparently completely unfazed by Carver’s presence and his deliberately maintained ignorance towards the relevance of such a question. “I guess I just sort of assumed that was common with—”

“Oh shit,” Carver interrupted when the understanding hit. “Oh shit, does that mean what I—”

“Yep,” Anders nodded, appearing entirely emotionless at the exchange.

“In Ferelden?”

“Yep.”

There was a tense moment between them while they paused when Varric’s name was called, wherein no one spoke until he and Merrill had successfully switched places.

“Well, umm,” Carver continued in what was still clearly surprise and perhaps even a tinge of discomfort. “Isn’t that supposed to be one of the better ones?”

_“It starts with a wink and ends in disgrace, a question of silence, I’m told…”_

“Yep,” Anders sighed with it that time. “Or at least that’s the rumour, but believe me when I tell you just how terribly I hope that isn’t true.”

_“But love is clean, or so I’m told…”_

“Anyway,” Anders added in deflection, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. “You didn’t actually answer my question.”

“I think so,” Carver said uncertainly. “Unless he just made one up for our sake, which—”

“Which does sound like it’s absolutely within the realm of possibility, now that I think about it,” Hawke finished sadly. “Do you have any idea when it might be, love?”

_“Incendiary lover, enter the threshold of time…”_

“August, maybe?” Anders shrugged. “I think—I _think_ —it was somewhere around Kingsway or Harvestmere that I was sent away because I vaguely remember Satinalia coming up and I’m pretty sure I’d had my birthday fairly recently…”

“Oh, love…”

_“They said he was dirty, dirty…”_

“Who knows for sure, though, really,” Anders went on in a monotone. “A lot of time has passed, and you know—as we’ve discussed—a lot of head injuries, so…”

“Shit,” Carver let slip.

_“Incendiary lover, enter the threshold of time…”_

“You know, Anders,” Fenris spoke up. “I don’t actually know mine, either. I don’t know _anything_ about where I come from or what there was of my life before Danarius, and obviously _he_ was never going to give a fuck about a detail like _that.”_

“What do _you_ do, then, Fenris?” Hawke asked, unapologetically grasping at straws.

“After I finally got out of there, I simply decided it’s on Wintersend,” he answered easily. “Tevinter is hot as fuck and getting away from that drew me to the colder weather for a little while, but given that it’s also meant to be a holiday of change and new beginnings, it just made sense to me to take something like that for myself.”

“Karl and I used to joke that, knowing me, I was probably born on All Soul’s Day,” Anders added numbly. “We’d ‘celebrate’ it then, but it was really only because he cared, and I haven’t given it much thought since…”

_“Miasma, seduction, slow and innocent corruption, transgressing all frontiers…”_

“Love…”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Anders shrugged again. “I have a decent idea of how _very_ fucking old I am and I don’t really see a need to make a big deal about it.”

“Because it is a big deal,” Hawke insisted. “Every year you’re alive is a basically like fucking spitting in the face of the Chantry itself, and I firmly believe that is worthy of celebration.”

_“Incendiary lover, lost in the threshold of time…”_

“She’s got you there,” Fenris chuckled. “Maybe not All Soul’s Day, though.”

“I don’t know, I…” Anders appeared contemplative as he trailed off, and Hawke did not miss a beat in responding.

“Keep it, love,” she smiled warmly at him. “If that’s when it’s mattered to you or to…to _anyone,_ then that’s what it should be.”

“Fair enough, love,” he managed with the slightest smile of his own, with the tiniest hint of acceptance and perhaps even relief.

Varric started on his return to the table at the same time as a name they did not recognise which belonged to a stranger amongst the crowd was the next to be called, and then perfectly on cue, as though it was the only possible thing that could have come next, Hawke felt herself cringe on Anders’s behalf when “I Will Follow You into the Dark” began playing.

“And I think I need some air,” Anders stated in almost that same second, instantly standing and exiting the tavern without another word.

“What just happened?” Carver asked with genuine concern.

“Oh no,” Merrill said at nearly the same time. “Is everything alright?”

“Merrill, it will be,” Hawke covered first. “Carver, I’ll have to see if I can get back to you on that one.”

She, too, stood up, picking up her cigarettes and pocketing her lighter ritualistically, even if it had been a while since the last time she’d found herself having to run outside for some emotional discussion or another, and simply told them she’d be back in a bit before she turned around and left the building, as well.

She lit up as she passed through the door, and upon reaching the other side of it she glanced around the area, expecting to spot Anders standing at the wall along the front of the building or sitting on the sidewalk by the ashtray as they so often did, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It had started raining. Nothing too much, but just enough of a nuisance that she instinctively reached back with her free hand to pull up a hood that was not there, as she had not actually expected to need one. Instead she swiftly moved that hand over the other to shield her cigarette from the drizzle that caused an ominous fog to hover around the streetlights, priorities definitely in order.

Fortunately, at least, such quick attention also promptly reminded her of her stitches, and it was easy enough to adjust her hands to cover those, as well.

“It’s a good thing I don’t actually believe in the Maker,” she huffed to herself, quietly but not silently. “Otherwise, I imagine I’d be really pissed about what a sick sense of humour he’d clearly _have to_ have…”

“Fuck,” she heard the sigh from somewhere around the corner, distinctly Anders’s voice no matter how small and distant it sounded.

“Love?” She said softly as she turned towards the side of the building where he was sitting, seemingly unbothered by his own exposure to the precipitation. “Hey, love, are you—no, of course you’re not. Sorry.”

“No, love, it’s alright,” he offered gently. “I just…fuck, I don’t—”

“I know,” she breathed out towards him, hovering over where he sat, trying to remain mindful of her positioning and her hands. “I know, Anders.”

She’d needed no explanation the first time they’d found themselves abruptly exiting a building due to that particular song starting, just as she certainly didn’t need any on this second instance.

“It’s just a perfect emotional shitstorm so far tonight,” she continued lightly. “I suggest we tell Varric to make everyone else leave.”

“Maybe we should just…or _I_ should just—”

“Love, no,” she rapidly cut in, unwilling to so much as entertain the thought, especially with his need to make such a correction. She inhaled deeply from the cigarette that she still kept close to her lips, and the smoke around her exhale only added to the atmosphere. She might have found it funny, how strangely perfect said emotional shitstorm truly was, and with full aesthetic to match, but she couldn’t stray from Anders, from her concern. “If you just want to give it a few minutes, I’ll gladly stay out here with y—”

“All the cards are out on the table now,” he said flatly. He was completely lost to his own thoughts and she couldn’t get a good enough look at him to even try to follow. “You know, I didn’t even _think_ about it back there. It didn’t occur to me until _he_ mentioned it that Carver still didn’t know…and I don’t care that he does. I _trust_ him. And I don’t know why that bothers me.”

She struggled to find a response, to tell him that she thought she might have understood where he was coming from, even if she could not quite understand the feeling behind it, but nothing she could think to say seemed sufficient.

“Love,” she started anyway, hoping the words might find her on their own, might find him, but she was stopped short when Anders quickly rose to his feet and moved up against her, to inadvertently back her into the wall when he laid his forehead carefully against hers, and she didn’t even care that she dropped what little was left of her cigarette in the process. She moved her arms around him and ran her fingers through his hair, soaked through but it didn’t matter.

“You shouldn’t be out here with this, love,” he whispered. He made no gestures, no direct indications of his meaning, but he didn’t have to. The only additional movement he made was to shiver slightly and slip his hands inside the pockets of her leather jacket, and she grinned when she felt the small tug of his fitting them in as far down as they could go.

She couldn’t place what exactly it was that she loved so much about him doing so, but it was the most endearing thing in all the world to her right then, and she didn’t ever want him to let go.

“Anders,” she tried again, barely audible but close enough to reach him. “Anders, love, it’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid.”

She wanted so badly to make him understand, to make him understand how much she understood, at least as well as anyone who had not lived these feelings could. She knew it was still about being welcomed into a family when his own had abandoned him so long ago, she knew that was yet going to be a process for him. All the same, she knew that Karl was just as much of a factor in his difficulties, that he probably always would be. She didn’t know how to help him, didn’t really know what to say, but she’d be damned if she didn’t give it her best effort.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighed. “I should be _grateful,_ I know, I’m sorry…”

“Hey, now,” she smiled. “You don’t need to worry. You have family, you know that. You have the Crew, and even your friends from Amaranthine sound like—”

“It isn’t…it isn’t that,” he fumbled, pulling her closer through her coat and intensifying the pressure and sensation of forehead over forehead. “I guess it’s just one thing to form one on your own, but another thing entirely to be _accepted_ into one that existed long before you found it, if that makes any sense.”

“I think it does,” she answered with a tiny, strained kiss. “Although, you know all that remains of mine aside from Carver is my _mother,_ so…it’s not like there’s anything too extraordinary left for you there, sorry about that one…”

He surprised her by joining the little breathy chuckle that followed, and he added another small kiss, as well.

“They’re yours, love,” he told her seriously. “That makes them perfect, no matter what else.”

“Maker, Anders,” she nearly hummed, her smile widening. “You are truly amazing, you know that.”

“If you say so,” he smirked in his usual response to such praise. “I suppose we can probably head back in…Maker’s balls, we probably _should_ with…”

“Alright,” she nodded into him, and he released his hands from her jacket and briefly ran a thumb beneath her inevitable scar before breaking away, and she saw the relief on his face when she instantly covered hers back up with her hands to shield it from the persistent rain.

He almost appeared to sparkle from beside her. That dull fog lingered more and more heavily with each passing second, further unsettling the typical occasional casual flicker of some streetlight or another. It all came together along with the old neon sign in the Hanged Man’s one front window as they rounded back to the door, and somehow every little piece of light which otherwise felt so very out of place seemed to reflect directly off of him, off of his jewellery, off of his hair, of his eyes, and she couldn’t keep hers from him.

_“Give me a vision when I got none, and the thunderbolts in each hand of my own, for I’m coming back to level everything they taught us wrong, onto transmigration…”_

“Andraste’s tits, of course he’d try to do the voice,” Hawke laughed as she and Anders passed through the door to the sound of Carver doing his best impression of Eugene Hütz’s harsh vocals and thick accent. The latter was minimised a bit more to the point of not being too offensive, but she couldn’t help but be amused by it nonetheless.

_“With a crave for panacea, our world is crawling on all fours in a search of a new prayer, gods are throwing thunderbolts…”_

“Is everything alright?” Merrill asked again as soon as they sat back down with everyone else, and Hawke wordlessly looked to Anders so that he would speak for himself.

_“Dub it like a best friend would, dub it like a brother would, onto transmigration…”_

“I, umm, I think so,” he replied hesitantly, but it was an easier answer than she’d expected.

“I just owe him a birthday gift or two now,” Hawke added lightly, taking his hand from under the table.

“If you must,” he shrugged, but she caught that there was the slightest smile to go with it.

_“How to keep going, of walking trails of ultimate, from the streets to the subconscious, from the subconscious to the god, so dub it…”_

“That doesn’t answer my earlier question, though,” Aveline noted, doing her part to try to maintain the fresh sense of calm.

“Ah, fuck if I know, honestly,” Hawke shrugged, herself. “I actually sort of forgot it was even coming up, what with the year we’ve had and…I don’t know, everything…”

“It hasn’t been all bad, though,” Merrill offered in such kind comforting.

“I know, Merrill,” Hawke nodded. “Thank you.”

_“Frequencies of love, gather ‘round, oh come on, frequencies of love, overcome, overthrow…”_

“I guess we’ll just have to throw you something,” Varric teased, and Hawke was about to retort when Isabela appeared and she and Merrill very swiftly interjected their approval of the idea.

“Oh no,” Hawke laughed and shook her head, aware that the ship of having any kind of say in this had already sailed.

“It’s alright, love,” Anders whispered. “Let yourself enjoy…”

He trailed off uncomfortably, which she immediately recognised as an accidental derailment back to their conversation from before, and his quick regret over not meaning to say it the way he’d started to say it.

_“Tell me how everything they taught us turned out to be so goddamn wrong…”_

“Alright,” she acquiesced with an understanding grin. “Just try not to let them get too…whatever it is they’re bound to get.”

She made an extra point to stress the end of her thought so everyone would hear, even if she was at least partially joking.

“Seriously, though, Anders,” Fenris interjected. “Are you _really_ okay?”

“Like I said,” he referenced his previous answer to Merrill in return. “I just think too much sometimes, it seems.”

“You and me and…all of us, I’d say,” Isabela laughed sadly.

“Just not a Death Cab fan?” Varric tried with an awkward laugh of his own.

“I, umm,” Anders started, but could not seem to finish.

“I think that perhaps, Varric, the context speaks for itself?” Fenris offered, and Hawke noticed Anders turn to silently offer his thanks.

_“Say it like a brother would; brother, hold me like a mother would…”_

It was genuinely sort of funny to watch each wave of processing Fenris’s suggestion so clearly over Varric’s face, followed simply by a quiet, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Anders chuckled mirthlessly. “There you go.”

“I don’t like this crowd, Dwarf,” Isabela added. “I’m not getting _nearly_ enough tips to justify putting up with this mess, you know.”

“You fuckers wanna start paying for your own drinks again?” Varric scoffed playfully, and cocked his head indignantly towards Isabela at their resounding negative response. “Then I think having a little more of a crowd every once in a while is a small price to pay…”

_“Frequencies of love, gather ‘round, oh come on…”_

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed dryly. “Hey, by the way, Anders…I have myself up next but I’ll bump you if you’d like. Looks like you could use it.”

“Nah,” he grinned. “I imagine I have some explaining to do once Carver comes back. Thanks, though.”

“Most welcome,” she nodded. “After me?”

“Sounds good.”

_“Give me a vision when I got none, and the thunderbolts in each hand of my own, for I’m coming back to level everything they taught us wrong…”_

“Oh love,” Anders spoke up as he turned back to Hawke. “How are your stitches?”

“I think they’re alright, don’t worry, I didn’t let them get too wet,” she assured him, and he seemed satisfied at his quick lookover. “These things are still coming out tomorrow, right?”

“Should be,” he smiled gently. “You just know how I worry…”

“Yes, love, I know very well.”

_“Frequencies of love, gather ‘round, oh come on, frequencies of love, overcome, overthrow…”_

Isabela promptly disappeared on them just in time to see Carver off and herself on, and Carver looked oddly relieved to see that Hawke and Anders had returned.

“Hey, so,” he started once he sat back down, his curiosity just as obvious as his uncertainty over what boundaries might yet remain.

_“So you think that I’m alone, that being alone is the only way to be, when you step outside, you spin like fire for your sanity…”_

“Sorry for making that a bit…weird back there,” Anders began with a shrug. “That song just hits a little…it makes me think of my, umm, _ex.”_

“Karl?”

“Karl.”

_“If you want to be free, feel on the ground is the only place to be, ‘cause in this life you spend time running from depravity…”_

Hawke pulled her damp pack from her pocket and lit another cigarette, and Carver quickly imitated her.

“So how’d he die?” Carver asked Anders bluntly and then automatically recoiled at his own question, his own tone. “Shit, Anders, that was—”

“No, no, it’s…it’s okay, Carver,” Anders replied slowly, perhaps trying to get a feel for whether or not he genuinely meant it.

_“This is a cold war, you better know what you’re fighting for…”_

“Love?” Hawke leaned in delicately, right against Anders’s ear, and she returned to herself when she felt his nod rather than saw it.

“I’m sorry, Anders,” Carver said again anyway. “I’m still working on this whole _understanding_ and _sensitivity_ thing, I guess…”

Hawke laughed despite herself, a stream of smoke slipping through her nose at her poor attempt to hold it back.

“Well, effectively, your boss killed him,” Anders said with that same blunt delivery Carver had asked in, and she thought his sternness may have been equally unintended.

_“The mighty will crumble, we must brave this fight…”_

“Oh shit,” Carver said flatly.

“All the cards out on the table, then,” Hawke said to her cigarette, low enough she was sure no one could actually hear her.

_“I’m trying to find my peace, I was made to believe there’s something wrong with me…”_

“What…what happened?” Carver asked with wide eyes, trying to look down at his own cigarette to hide his expression. “Of course you don’t have to say and…well…it’s not like I have any doubt in my mind that it happened at all, but I…Anders, fuck, I’m sorry.”

_“This is a cold war, do you know what you’re fighting for…”_

“It isn’t your fault,” Anders replied more easily, relaxing somewhat. “I don’t know if this will ever get better, or if what you do for a living will ever stop you feeling so fucking weird to be around sometimes, but I know it isn’t _your_ fault, Carver. You certainly weren’t even working there yet when it happened.”

“Shit…”

“If it’s any consolation, of all the Circle guards I’ve ever known, you are by far my favourite.” Anders’s chuckle was still dry, but it was something, and with the moment of intensity which had preceded it, it made that something that much greater.

“I’m sure that’s quite a high bar there,” Carver retorted sarcastically. “But, umm…thanks.”

_“This is a cold, this is a cold war…”_

“Any time,” Anders smirked after another few seconds, unsure how to proceed.

“I’m looking for other jobs, too, I swear,” Carver added quickly to fill that void. “I hate this, believe me. Not like you do, Anders, I know, but…I just don’t have enough experience and I’m fucking trying, but I don’t know…”

“Maybe I can help,” Fenris spoke up. The rest of the group had gone silent during the exchange, most everyone even having taken to pulling out their phones in an obvious distraction from the much too public discussion around them, but Fenris had kept watching, and Hawke wondered if he’d somehow been waiting for this precise opportunity.

“We always need muscle where I work,” he continued with a short laugh. “I haven’t heard anything about us hiring lately, but let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Fenris,” Carver accepted appreciatively. “That’s…thank you.”

_“You better know what you’re fighting for…”_

Isabela finished and called Anders to the stand, and Carver unexpectedly hung his head into his hands upon putting out his cigarette once Anders departed.

“Carver?” Hawke asked as she lit up another for herself, caught off-guard by such an atypical reaction to such a still-uncommonly weighty conversation, even though she fully realised such events had started happening more and more with her brother, although she was just as aware of the fact that it would yet likely be a substantial amount of time before she could get used to it.

_“I’ll go away ‘til there’s no one around then leave your house when the sun goes down…”_

“How do you live like that?” He mused in earnest. “I just…I can’t even imagine…”

_“Plant myself at the first bar I see and pour a thousand drinks and dream…”_

“Neither can I, honestly,” she admitted with a long sigh.

“I didn’t only mean him, Trista,” Carver noted with a gentleness that suited him far better than she could ever have pictured.

_“And you’ll be gone for one more day and I’ll watch you slip a little further away from us…”_

“No, it’s not…it’s not the same,” she exhaled wearily. “I’ve never had to live through what he has.”

“But you live _with_ it,” he insisted. “And it’s had an obvious effect on you both, which surely couldn’t possibly be the case without understanding to some end…a greater end than there should be, if I’m being honest, and we both know you have that.”

“One thing I’ve learned since I stumbled into whatever this is, Carver,” she sighed as she reached towards him for the ashtray, “is that even at my worst, I never knew how fucking good I had it.”

“That’s not being fair,” he replied shaking his head. “Not to yourself or to your own experiences. You’ve lived through your own Void, I’ve learned to see that, and I don’t envy it.”

Hawke glanced around the rest of the group, too overwhelmed to be as impressed as she knew her brother deserved, hoping someone else might step in again to add something, anything, but no one did. They were paying attention, that much didn’t slip past her, but in their defense it would have been difficult not to. The silence of the group, however, served as space within the masses surrounding them, a means to move freely while staying perfectly in place.

_“And you were right, this place is haunted, change the locks, we are unwanted…”_

“Mother would be proud if she knew, you know,” Carver mumbled after a pause, and all Hawke nearly choked on the smoke rising from her lungs.

“Maker’s balls,” she scoffed. “You’re right, though. Fuck knows I never imagined I’d find myself taking after _her_ in any way…”

“Stranger things have happened, I’m sure,” he grinned.

“You mean like this?” She laughed, and he teasingly shrugged.

_“Drown me in your heart-shaped locket and store me in your fur coat pocket…”_

“Yeah, I guess so,” he added. “Really, though, I don’t know how any of you do what you do. I truly don’t know if I _could.”_

“Carver—”

“I think all this helps, though, I think…” He fumbled over his words and took a deep breath, heading even further down the line of testing just how serious he’d let her see him. “I think it helps make sense of what happened to Bethany.”

“There is no sense of what happened to Bethany,” Hawke muttered bitterly.

“Exactly,” Carver replied sullenly, and she knew that they truly were on precisely the same page.

_“And you’ll be gone for one more year, and I’ll watch you slip a little further away from me…”_

“I think it might be time to call it a night,” Hawke said to her hands before crushing the end of her cigarette into the ashtray. “It’s too fucking loud in here, Varric.”

“It’s too fucking _heavy_ is your problem,” Varric chuckled back at her attempted jab. “Ah well, can’t win ‘em all.”

“I’ll make sure Isabela gives you extra priority on Wednesday,” Merrill smiled.

“Thanks,” Hawke noted and returned her expression.

“Everything okay, love?” Anders asked, and she moved to stop him right as he was about to sit back down.

“Yeah, it is,” she said softly. “I just want to go home, love.”

“Alright,” he answered quickly, no question or concern, at least not that he was going to bring up then, none that might delay their exit.

“It’s so loud,” she tried to explain anyway. It wasn’t really the volume, neither was it the normal kind of loud her head could get even when she was sitting alone in silence. It just was, and she wanted to get as far away from it as she could, and from the look on Anders’s face she could see that it was not only her.

“It’s okay, love,” he offered when she stood to meet him. “It’s alright.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “Okay.”

Quick goodbyes peppered with overwhelmed ellipses she could not comprehend, could not quite figure out how to justify, but a sense of understanding following them through it somehow all the same. It was all they could do, all the evening had left for them. To go home, to try to clear their heads, to pretend the end of the night could come to calm whatever it was that led to such disruptive unrest.

Anders’s hand in hers as they forced their way through, and they crossed through the door, a tether she was certain she’d never stop needing, a lifeline she would never come to terms with having earned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! There's been a weird assortment of irl personal crises going on, including but not limited to my fucking _seasonal allergies_ literally almost killing me and then some aftermath from that, as well as just a lot of my usual brainstuff kicking in all in a jumble with the rest making for a nice bit of a writing slump for a little while there.
> 
> I had even _more_ help than usual from [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) this time around and I am, as always, eternally grateful (I genuinely don't know what I'd do without them at this point tbh).
> 
> And of course, feel free to follow me further down the landfill via [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	60. Tear Away Memory, Purge the Impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: detailed depiction of an explicitly rape-related PTSD episode entailing body memories, self-blame, panic, dissociation, depersonalisation/derealisation via loss of agency, kind of-sort of self-harm, suicidal ideation, referenced substance abuse, and general hopelessness
> 
> I'm so sorry, I did not intend to make _this_ the next update, neither did I intend to write this at all if I'm being completely honest. This is 100% a therapeutic self-insert and probably _the_ most potentially triggering thing I have written thus far. Feel free to skip this one if you need to, since with that in mind I decided to intentionally write it so it isn't necessary to story progression or anything like that. This is written entirely from far too much experience and it is very raw and very rough and very real. Just keep that in mind before proceeding.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke pulled out a cigarette as soon as she crossed through the back door of Lirene’s shop, and she didn’t even make it to the bench.

She slammed herself hard against the wall, entirely involuntarily, her back instantly searing in pain at such harsh contact, throbbing as she slid down it, but at least it was distracting while it lasted.

She lit her cigarette and started on it with a fervor, as though trying to suffocate herself with the smoke. She covered an ear with her free hand as though that might somehow push out the noise coming from inside herself, as though that might somehow will the screaming to stop.

She just wanted the screaming to stop.

_Hey there, are you on break yet?_

With shaking hands she opened up her phone at its vibration, longing for the sight of Anders’s name to bring her back more than it did, pleading with herself to reply coherently.

_Yeah wgat’s ip?_

She didn’t even notice the errors until after she’d sent it, her vision clouded by lack of sleep and the nauseated swirl of her brain collapsing in on her, the volume of it consuming her.

_Are you okay?_

She had been earlier, or far better than this at the very least. Nights had been rough as of late, the memories of old hands long gone overwhelming, firmly reminding her how severely they could not be forgotten. Such nights hadn’t carried too much into her days, however, and she genuinely had no idea where this had come from, why they had decided to start.

_It’s so loud._

Honesty, and far more carefully constructed.

She tensed her shoulders and silently begged for that throbbing pain to return, to take away from the throbbing pain coming from inside her, inside her body, inside her very soul. She knew that feeling, she knew it too well, and she wanted it gone, wanted his touch gone, along with the screaming in her mind clawing its way through the Void to try to toss him out, as well. Or perhaps it was encouraging its wrath, encouraging those remnants of that man she knew remained blissfully ignorant of what misery he had wrought, perhaps they were actually laughing at her from behind those dissonant shouts.

The back of her head met brick, colliding hard when her legs twitched, her phone then beside her while she covered her ear again. So loud and yet so quiet, her breath wild and inconsistent, the beating of her heart ringing in her ears to join the cacophony raging within her, stark against the silence outside.

Her legs twitched again, such aggression fighting her, but it almost felt like fighting back, like she was trying to kick away the feeling, trying to rail against him, to force him away like she should have…

Her phone was buzzing, she didn’t know how long it had been, it took her too long to realise it wasn’t just her but an actual sound based in reality, noting the missed call screen when she finally did.

She let her hand fall to pick her phone back up, banging her head against the wall again, harder than before even though her legs remained still that time, unsure whether or not that meant she’d intended to do it, and for a split second she saw spots dancing before her eyes, and they were gone as quickly as they had come but she couldn’t help how badly she wanted to chase them. She wanted to disappear, to fall away by any means necessary, and it wasn’t until she drew her cigarette back to her lips that she realised she’d also been holding her breath.

“Love?” Anders’s voice through the phone. She didn’t realise she’d answered a call, or perhaps made one herself. She exhaled desperately, smoke clouding around her, such obstruction barely even affecting her markedly skewed vision of the world around her.

“How do you do it?” She whimpered before another drag. That was not the greeting she was going for, if she was even going for anything at all.

“Do what, love?” He sounded so calm, so ready for whatever she was about to unleash on him, and it was almost too much for her to bear.

“How do you _live like this?”_ She detested the way she spoke, the pathetic whine in her voice. She wanted to punch herself in the face. She started rocking back and forth instead, her body not her own, its will no longer hers.

“Like what, love?” So gentle, such warmth, and so unbelievable that while it did nothing to silence the shouting, something so soft and sanative could so beautifully make itself that much louder.

She took a deep, heavy breath and was hardly aware of lighting another cigarette. This almost never followed her into daylight and even when it did, it was never so bad as it was in that moment, and she wanted to tear out her flesh, wanted to turn herself inside out and wring out the decay, to burn it away and smother the ashes.

 _“Get him out of me,”_ she hissed without thinking, without regard for context or explanation. She didn’t know if she could form the words to elaborate if she tried and she prayed to no one that she wouldn’t need to, that he would understand her on his own.

“Love, what happened?” His voice took on a bit of an edge, but even in such a state she knew it was not directed at her, knew it was one of concern and did not reflect her having done anything wrong.

At least she knew he did not believe such things, a thought which coursed through her veins and corrupted her to the very marrow of her bones as her legs twitched again, her thighs clenching together so hard they rapidly turned to shaking, trying to push him out, trying to push away, trying to make up for what she did not do when…

Her breath was ragged, almost coming out as sobs except so dry, so barren, so empty. She envied it.

“Love?” Anders asked again, even more delicately than before. She must not have answered. She wasn’t sure she could. _“Did_ something happen, or…?”

“No,” she choked in a hoarse whisper. “No, nothing, I…”

Nights had been bad for the past few, and it was something he was aware of, something she’d talked about with him. She had even used up time at the previous night’s meeting, had even allowed herself that much and there’d been a part of her that had truly believed that might be enough to push it back down for however long until it inevitably came up again. She knew it probably always would, she could feel it in her core just as plainly as she could see it in the way it still did for Anders, but she could at least get some reprieve and she had actually let herself think she was going to find it on her terms.

Instead, of course, that night had gone just as poorly as maybe the three before it—this particular round started after that last Saturday at the Hanged Man, she realised—and then Wednesday it was like she simply didn’t wake up.

There was no reason for it, none that she could find. Emotions had been strange during karaoke last but even that night hadn’t warranted much concern. Her head had varied in degrees of loud, of clouded, of messy whirlwinds that ebbed and flowed all throughout her. When that night had gone the way it went, however, for as difficult as it was, she hadn’t thought anything of it. One bad night mostly unprompted was far from unheard of. Even when Sunday and Monday followed, it fell idly into the category of “these things happen.” For as disappointed as she was in Tuesday night, that felt no different. When she walked into work on Wednesday, though, on this day and she realised it was still as deeply with her as it had been when it did its best to keep her from sleep…that was when it became terrifying.

She spent most of the day on her feet, behind the register or stocking shelves or speaking with customers, the whole time anxiously shifting her weight around and trying her hardest to conceal the shake of her body, the restless need to pace, the persistent ache between her legs that she didn’t know how she was hiding. She walked like it was fresh, she remembered that detail far too well. She supposed that one might just have to feel it to be able to recognise it, but how blatant it was to her was another crush against a nerve all the same.

“Has it been like this all day?” Anders’s tone was the same one he used during those nights when she couldn’t find sleep because another man’s body still claimed hers, the one he used when he held her as close and as tight as she could let him to murmur endearments and affirmations.

“Yes,” she breathed out quietly, her voice struggling as her lungs struggled to find air, to find use, to find its place with her. “How, love, how…how do you…how do you do this, how have you done this for so long?”

She wondered if she should even have allowed herself to take a break at all, even though she knew Lirene would never have let her neglect one. For as difficult as it had been to maintain her composure in the shop, though, she was certain she could have held it as long as she needed. As soon as she went outside, however, she lost it completely and she didn’t know if she would possibly be able to get it back.

“Breathe, love,” he reminded her carefully, and the sharp intake that followed seemed to catch in her throat, to hold her there, another sensation of force taking over her body to further solidify that it wasn’t hers anymore, that it hadn’t been for a long time. It had been broken down and abandoned, its sole inhabitant murdered on sight, leaving only her own ghost to navigate the surviving shell left behind.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it,” she whispered to no one, quietly let loose into the ether, unsure why, instantly hoping it had gone unheard.

She still had yet to figure out why this could hurt so much, how such a thing could feel like it changed something inside her the way it did. She didn’t want it, tried to tell herself it couldn’t be true, tried to will it away, to silently scream through the Void and back that bad decisions and careless bastards long left behind should not have the capacity to brand her like this, that she would not let them, that she had a choice.

She didn’t have a choice in this, however, that was abundantly clear, just as she hadn’t had a choice in the moments that mattered stemmed from those initial bad decisions with those careless bastards, those moments which had led her to this point.

Her legs hurt from tensing them as hard as she did but she couldn’t let them go, she had to keep them closed, had to keep herself guarded like it wasn’t already too late, like the insurmountable damage had not already been done.

It did not let go, that tactile reminder, that spinning in her head, that overwhelmed need to be sick, that screaming. It was so much, so loud.

“Help,” she moved back into a miserable whimper, so sad, so helpless, hating herself and how much it made her feel like a child. Hating herself for how small and scared and laid bare it left her. Hating herself for being in such a state at all. Hating herself, hating herself, hating herself.

“Love, I’m coming to get you,” he said without hesitation. It sounded like he’d had it on the tip of his tongue the whole time, like he’d been ready from the very second he’d heard her voice. Knowing him, that was probably exactly accurate. Still, she opened her mouth to protest, to will words to come forth. It didn’t feel right of her to just leave and she absolutely did not want this to be a reason why she should, but it would fall out of her hands. Or that bastard’s hands. Someone’s hands. The ones that just so happened to be attached to the body she wore. Someone’s body. Not hers.

“It’s okay,” Anders continued when nothing came. “Lirene will understand. Don’t even go back in, I’ll call her myself. I’m leaving now.”

She could hear him rapidly uttering something to someone and she could hear that someone replying, but it sounded muffled, like he had his hand over the receiver. She realised he was just telling someone or other that he was stepping out, that it was no concern of hers, but even that brief moment of disconnect was too much. It didn’t matter that she could barely speak to him, he couldn’t go, not even for a second. If Anders left then surely the other he would take over, would lay waste to anything left of her for Anders to salvage, if there was anything left even then.

She needed him to fix it, to wave some magic staff and cast it out of her, to become impossibility and distorted idealism made manifest and find a way to simply kiss it and make it better. Ever so briefly, she allowed herself to entertain such musings, and the only thing that hurt more than knowing he couldn’t was knowing he knew it, too, and knowing he wished he could every bit as much as she did, and every bit as much as she wished she could for him.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she managed to say out loud, a dual-layered plea. One for Anders to keep her on the line, another for the retrospective, to reinforce that she did not want this, she did not want to feel this way when it happened and she certainly never wanted to feel it again since.

“What is it, love?” Anders asked softly, and she exhaled slowly, unsteadily, pressing herself further into the brick wall behind her. She thought that maybe if she hit it just right it could crack her like an egg, split her straight down the middle, open her up to spill all around the area except that there would be nothing inside, no mess to leave. The mess was her, the mess was hers, and that meant it couldn’t live there anymore. It would just fade away into the abyss with the rest, the corpse unchanged. After all, she’d been dead so long already.

“Too loud,” was all she could offer in response. “Too loud, too loud, too loud…”

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.” Anders sounded vaguely distant and strained, a quality to his voice that didn’t feel real, and when he spoke again it was gone. “I’m on my way, love, I’ll be there soon, but I’ll stay with you in the meantime, okay?”

“Okay,” she pushed out with a shake. “Okay.”

It dawned on her that he must have put her on speaker so he could text Lirene instead. It also dawned on her that she had no idea how long she’d been out there, how suspicious it might have been already. She had no idea when she’d apparently stopped smoking, how many she’d had, how many she had left. She didn’t care. Smoking could only kill the body, of course.

That left her right hand free, though, so she moved to cover that ear, and she pressed the phone in her left in harder.

She just wanted the screaming to stop.

She didn’t know how long she kept sitting there, how much longer it took for Anders to arrive, neither of them speaking another word despite her insistence they not hang up.

She scraped her head up and down the wall while she waited, longing to feel something else, to feel something from outside, and how badly she wanted to feel something that hurt. She wanted to smash her face through a window, to set herself on fire, to literally cut out her heart, to do anything that might manage to cause her greater pain than what she was feeling.

She wasn’t sure how he got her off the ground once he arrived. She knew it was a challenge for them both, the tension in her body and her staunch unwillingness to part her legs leaving her stuck where she was, making it impossible for her to move on her own and an impressive difficulty for anyone wanting to help her.

Eventually, somehow, they got her standing, got her walking, even though each step was unbearably strained through her contradictory compulsions to keep her legs together and to keep anything from touching them, even each other. Just how she walked when it was fresh, when it genuinely hurt too fucking much to let the gap close at all, no matter how greatly she’d tried.

She wanted something else to hurt her, something else to steal her focus, to destroy her like he had tried to, like he had even though she was still there to feel it. Either that or she never wanted to feel anything ever again, to destroy herself not through pain and blood and bruises but in the numb haze of alcohol and painkillers. She wasn’t sure she had ever so desperately craved to quiet her mind that way, to let it decompose what still lingered of this form, to let it take her away. Drugs and drink could only kill the body, of course.

She changed as quickly as she was able, wanting to get out of the stiff constriction of day clothes but terrified of the feeling of being unclothed at all, of feeling so bare and vulnerable and…wrong. She got through it and curled herself into bed, even flinching wildly when Pounce tried to join her, scaring him off at once, and if she could have felt enough beyond herself she may have been surprised by how little she cared, but she couldn’t care, she couldn’t care about anything. All that mattered was that she was trapped all over again, traumatised by the trauma itself, rocking and wincing and twitching and kicking. She wanted to push him out, to kill everything left of him inside, to end it already, regardless of whatever that could mean.

She actually screamed, herself, when Anders sat down on the other side of the bed. That was all it took, he didn’t even get a chance to try to talk or touch. Just that tiny shift of the mattress startled her to shouting and in that same moment she pictured slitting her own throat, what the logistics of such an action might look like.

As if it was her own, of course. She kept thinking in those terms but deep down it revolted, the notion that there could be any autonomy remaining.

It was just so very loud.

“You never answered my question,” she sighed, a long and languid whisper, uncertain he was even still in the room as she did.

“What’s that, love?” Anders asked back just as quietly, much to her relief. She couldn’t stand the idea of being alone any more than she could take the thought of having company. That was, apparently, at least partially, the borderline personality in her, but this was so much more than that. This was so much different. This was terror and chaos and inability to cope. This was panicked implosion forced upon her, outside any possible realm of her control, from somewhere else entirely, from someone else entirely.

“How do you live like this?” She tried again. “I already know it doesn’t get better…”

“No, I don’t know that it does,” Anders replied in a frail, far-off voice.

“Why does it _hurt_ like this?” She knew he couldn’t have any better an answer for that than she did, but she had to try. She had to do something, anything, all she could while she writhed and shook in her place, her face turned into the pillow to hide from the world around her. “How the fuck…”

“I don’t know,” Anders responded just as she knew he would. Honesty, however unfortunate. “I don’t really know why, love.”

“How did I let this happen,” she exhaled roughly without inflection, and she immediately begged the universe to give her this one thing and not let Anders have heard her.

“Love,” Anders cut in quickly, leaving so much for that hope. “You didn’t—”

“There has to be _something,”_ she gritted, jaw clenching, whole body tightening, head pounding from the pressure of it. “I never should have put myself in it to begin with but I should have…I should have fought, I should have…I just fucking froze, I didn’t even fucking _try…”_

She spoke almost as loudly as the voices in her head, almost as bold and brash, almost as hateful.

“It’s not your fault,” Anders whispered softly. _“By definition,_ it isn’t your fault—”

Logically, of course, logically she knew such things but there was no time for logic when her body, that body, a body was being ripped apart from the inside out. She couldn’t fathom words, couldn’t form the right thoughts, could not explain how lost she felt, how disconnected, how disturbingly unreal. She didn’t know how to tell him she was too far gone, she was someone else, she was a restless spirit in a body she no longer belonged to and she only wanted to be set free.

He knew, she knew he knew. He had to know, he had to feel it, too. She wanted those who had made them this way to suffer the way they both had suffered. She wished there was a way to make all of them feel the way this felt. She would never claim to be so high and mighty as to never wish such Void on anyone else. She wanted nothing more than to make those who had inflicted this to have to experience what they had done. Not the acts that caused it, even she could not bring herself to desire that, but the feelings they left behind. She would give anything to be able to pass those back in kind.

“I just wish—”

“Of course you do,” Anders whispered in the same tone as before. “Of course you do; Maker, believe me, I know…”

“I know,” she said and could only hope it was loud enough to be audible. It seemed then that her voice had become every bit as small and useless as she felt herself to be.

Even Anders’s presence could only do much to take away from the presence of that third party who had never truly been with them in that room and who would likely never leave. She loathed it, absolutely despised it almost as much as she despised herself for putting either of them in this situation to start with.

“What can I do?” Anders’s voice in that moment implied that he already knew, because of course he would, that was just as obvious as the fact that he still had to ask.

“Find me a time machine,” she laughed mirthlessly, the most innocuous answer she could possibly force forward, all the while cries of “tie me down and toss me into the sea” and “tear out my veins with a grapefruit spoon” bounced back and forth off of the edges of her skull.

She just wanted the screaming to stop.

Aching, throbbing, pounding, working all throughout her, rendering it impossible for her to keep still, to keep from moving like she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself not doing when it was real, no matter what Anders said.

Anders did not answer but seemed to make an executive decision in place of words, getting into bed and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close, not tight but gentle, even as he wrapped himself further around her, even while she shouted and wrestled with his arms, instinctively tried to fight him off, too.

He didn’t stop, though, and she knew she didn’t want him to. She couldn’t be sure if it was truly his touch that caused her to recoil and rage as she did, or if it was the comfort he offered and how unworthy of it she felt.

She gripped his forearm when it made its way around her and he whispered tiny encouragements for her to hold on, to hold him tight, to find grounding in any way she could.

The feeling inside her did not cease, even as Anders repeated his assurances, even as he moved into reminding her where she was, when it was, as far as who she was. He told her she was real, that she was not alone, that she was not to blame, that she was still her own.

She didn’t believe most of it, didn’t know how to believe it, still didn’t know how to push away the pain, still didn’t know how to shake away those physical memories that continued to assail her, still didn’t know how to find her way back, still didn’t know how to be.

She hated knowing that this would keep happening, too, hated knowing that this was as far from being the last time as it was from being the first. She hated knowing that no matter what happened, even in moments she could feel like her own again, the mark that had been left was permanent, that damage done was largely irreparable.

Even after everything else that had happened, all of the unrelated bullshit that had come before and after, there was no feeling like this and nothing that could possibly have prepared her for it.

She knew it wouldn’t go away, it would probably never truly get better, that so much power belonged to someone who should have been so entirely inconsequential. This particular episode would pass in time, of course, and she would move on from it for a little while, go about things able to pretend it ever left her mind at all. It didn’t, though. It wouldn’t.

Anders liked the word “survivor” over “victim,” even if she knew well he didn’t actually apply it to himself despite how hard he tried, and she used it whenever it came up, as well. She never believed it, either, though, and she was aware of the fact that being able to do that was probably the best she could ever hope for in terms of healing from it, and even in her inability to do it she couldn’t imagine it could really be anything too meaningful in the end.

Time and support and love had their place, had their own hands in the mix to help push out the hands that hurt, but in that moment all she had was helplessness and hatred. Even in that exact moment, where she was just then, with Anders continuing to whisper all the love and grounding that he could, even while her fingernails embedded themselves into his flesh to bind herself to reality, to work as hard as possible to keep herself there—even in that exact moment, she felt like she was drowning and she longed to be able to do it for real.

Finally, after an amount of time she would not even attempt to guess, the floodgates burst open and Anders held on tighter while she wailed, shaking harder and harder while she sobbed so hard she was howling, so hard she was screaming almost loud enough to match the voices, and that was the best thing she could have hoped for in this instance. To be brought to weeping and yelling and rocking and writhing as she was, and that was the most positive thing that could have come out of it. She fucking hated it.

She just wanted the screaming to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been in a major writing slump recently. I started what was originally going to be this chapter and will therefore now be the next one, which at least so far is a bit on the lighter side, but then complete and utter PTSD Hell struck and I just couldn't get focused at all and I knew if I didn't get this out like this then I wasn't going to be able to for fuck knows how long, so that's basically the real purpose of progression this update serves, I guess.
> 
> Many thanks to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) as always, but _extra_ especially for being an absolute fucking angel to me this week while I've been going through this.  <33


	61. Don't Forget to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: abuse mention specific to the Circle
> 
> Also, there are some very intentionally vague references to the previous chapter just because it didn't really feel like it worked to have it so _completely_ disconnected, but you still certainly do not have to read it for things to make sense—if you didn't, this one basically just mentions that Hawke's had a bad week and you don't actually _need_ further details
> 
> ["Lucretia, My Reflection" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/IuezNswtRfo)   
>  ["Aladdin Sane" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/q2y9inP4CqE)

“Oh, Carver, stop there,” Hawke’s mother said quickly to her brother’s rapid flipping through channels on the garishly large flat screen when he reached their local public television station.

It was a lazy Friday evening, and Hawke and Anders had agreed to a last-minute dinner invitation. Afterwards, they sat together in the main room with hot teas all around, and the excessive lingering of smoke clouds from Hawke and Carver unintentionally influencing each other.

“Oh, I _love_ this one,” Anders noted when Carver did as he was told, in response to what appeared to be an old filming of an extravagant musical performance replete with rich dancing and astounding sets.

“Oh,” her mother mused excitedly at his statement. “I didn’t realise you had a penchant for baroque opera, Anders.”

“Not just baroque,” he laughed into his mug. _“Armide_ is a personal favourite, though, absolutely. I tend to go back and forth on whether I like that one or _Carmina Burana_ more, but you know…”

“That’s lovely,” her mother smiled, much to Hawke’s amusement. “I was always partial to _the Flying Dutchman,_ myself.”

“Another excellent choice,” Anders replied, and Hawke couldn’t help but grin to herself over how easily they were conversing over such unexpected common ground, and how comfortable the interaction felt.

“File under conversations I never thought I’d witness,” Carver teased while he set down the remote control on the end table beside him. “I had no idea you were so _cultured,_ Anders.”

“Things you learn living with the political elite,” Anders chuckled without thought. “Elissa would blast all kinds of opera and classical music while she was working, said it helped her concentrate. Of course she grew up with all that, you know, just as cliché rich people apparently do.”

“I had a few friends back in the army who were acquainted with her,” Carver replied without hesitation. “I always got the impression that she’s surprisingly down to earth.”

“That _is_ actually true, in spite of what I just said,” Anders nodded. “That reminds me, I still owe her a phone call…”

“Elissa? As in, Cousland?” Hawke’s mother asked, looking towards him in obvious intrigue.

“Yeah, that’d be the one,” he answered a bit awkwardly, clearly still trying to get the hang on how much information might be too much, plainly worried he may have accidentally gotten too comfortable just then. “She’s a…uh, she’s an old friend.”

Hawke looked to Carver, who only shrugged at her. She wasn’t sure if he was yet aware of Anders’s surname or if he had any idea how far their connection went—in fact, she wouldn’t even have been sure Carver would know who it was Anders was referring to prior to this exact interaction—as everything between them and their new friendship was starting to go by in more and more of a blur. If he did know more than she thought he did, though, he didn’t let on, and the fact that the possibility no longer surprised her was an interesting development all on its own.

“Oh, how nice,” was all her mother had to offer, for which she was immensely grateful.

She had also neglected to make any mention of Hawke’s new scar—still a harshly note-worthy addition to her appearance even post-stitches—and while she knew that said far more about her than it did her mother, in any case, she couldn’t help her thanks for that, as well.

“Oh, Carver,” Hawke started after a silent moment that probably wasn’t nearly as awkward as she felt it was. “Have you heard from Fenris?”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping soon,” he sighed. “Especially with…well…I may or may not have quit my job last night, anyway.”

“Carver, really?” Their mother asked in one of her many voices Hawke so loathed, even if it was a strange relief to hear it without being the one on the receiving end. “What happened?”

“Fuck, Mother, I just…” Carver took a second, frustration evident, and Hawke noticed Anders move his full attention towards him, as well. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, alright? I was given an order I wouldn’t carry out, so I left instead.”

“What did they want?” Anders asked quietly, looking unsure of himself when he seemed to realise he’d done so out loud.

“They’ve been trying to give me more responsibility around the actual wards and I’ve been avoiding it as much as I could,” he said with a pronounced cringe. “But then there was a bit of an outburst and I got called over from watching the doors and they wanted me to use force on this poor sod who was only having an anxiety attack and I couldn’t fucking do it. I just saw Bethany when I looked at her—or, Void, even you, Trista—so I threw my badge at them and walked out.”

“Good for you,” Hawke said instantly, a feeling of genuine pride coming forth.

“Trista, don’t encourage this,” her mother interjected swiftly, and both Hawke siblings rolled their eyes at her while Anders averted his.

“You did the right thing, Carver,” she affirmed. “I’m sure at least _Father_ would be proud of you.”

“Be that as it may,” their mother continued. “I thought you were looking for apartments, dear. What are you going to do now?”

“I have a pretty decent savings already,” he snapped quickly. _“And_ I might still actually already have another job lined up if things work out with our one friend.”

Hawke bit back a smile at Carver’s use of “our,” feeling almost silly for how much she appreciated it, how nice it truly was to see how far they’d come.

“This…Fenris, was it?” At least it wasn’t taking her long to back down. It always had been easier for Carver in such instances, a thought so contradictory to the one she’d just had, which she simply tried to push away. “Just what sort of work would that be, then?”

“Sounds like another security gig,” Carver said flatly. “Only I wouldn’t be working for the fucking Archdemon incarnate this time around.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” she reluctantly sighed. “I hope that works out for you, then. I suppose your sister _does_ have a point, after all.”

“Damn right, I do,” Hawke laughed indignantly. _“I’m_ proud of you, too.”

“Maker’s breath, you two are going to make me regret all those years I spent wishing you could get along, aren’t you?” She shook her head but there was still a grin, still an unconcealable contentment. “Would you like anything else, Anders? Do you need more to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he answered politely, also more pleased with the situation than he would likely let on.

“You’re most welcome, dear,” she smiled back at him while she stood to take her own cup into the kitchen.

“I wonder how long you getting special treatment for being the guest lasts,” Hawke laughed when her mother cleared the room. “I mean, is there an expiration date on courtesy, and then afterwards you’re just sort of _expected?_ That sounds like something that would happen, doesn’t it?”

“How long did it last with Aveline?” Anders smirked.

“It didn’t,” Carver snickered. “She was treated like family for as long as I can remember, at least. Sorry, I’m afraid _this_ is uncharted territory.”

“Speaking of which,” their mother remarked as she walked back in only a few seconds after. “I _do_ have ears, you know—Carver, will you be having that young woman you thought you were sneaking out the other morning over to join us any time soon?”

“Oh, Carver!” Hawke teased. “Please, _do_ tell us…”

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself, and she and Anders both kept laughing.

“Anyone I know?” Hawke tried again, and the way Carver’s eyes expanded and shifted made his answer clear. “Oh no, I didn’t actually think…well, come on!”

“Maker, maybe Fenris was right,” Anders smiled. “Perhaps something really is in the air.”

“I think it’s just called growing up,” her mother offered. It was an attempt at being nice, she knew that, and therefore decided to bite her tongue against every contrary response she could possibly have to such a thought.

“Well?” Hawke prodded again, thoroughly enjoying watching her brother look so uncomfortable. “That’s not fair, Carver, I don’t even have a _guess._ Do we even know anyone who…well, I suppose unless you suddenly decided to take home…oh, wait, you _didn’t—”_

“Don’t say anything to Varric,” Carver mumbled as the colour spread along his cheeks, and Anders started cackling when it hit him, too.

“Norah’s great, what’s wrong with that?” Anders chimed in, attempting to calm his laughter into something more appropriate for the room.

_“Nothing,”_ Carver said firmly. “Nothing, I just…I don’t know, I’d prefer to see where it goes before I have to worry about getting _him_ all over my ass.”

“Okay,” Hawke smiled, “but… _how?”_

“We ended up exchanging numbers that night she joined us celebrating with Merrill and Isabela, and it’s just sort of gone from there,” he answered matter-of-factly. “She did have a point, though, you lot still _are_ way too close to your tavern.”

“Is that why you’ve been hiding her?” Hawke joked. “Because this makes you even worse than the rest of us?”

“Maker’s balls…”

“Don’t make fun, Trista,” her mother said lightly, her impression of someone proper faltering more than it usually did.

“I guess if I can do it, _anyone_ can, so…you know,” Hawke laughed, more at herself than Carver.

Anders looked like he had something to interject, but his phone went off before he could say anything on the subject.

“Sorry, I’ll just be…I’m going to take this outside,” he noted hastily as he looked at it, and he promptly answered and asked the person on the other end to give him a second while he stood up and walked away.

Hawke absent-mindedly lit a cigarette watching him leave, and it was when she heard the click of the front door closing behind him that her mother caught her attention.

“Alright, dear,” she started calmly. “So what aren’t you telling me?”

“Why, Mother, whatever do you mean?” Hawke asked in a markedly higher pitch, with a laugh she couldn’t hold back despite how hard she tried.

“There’s something that doesn’t quite add up about him and you know it,” her mother replied, albeit not nearly as sternly as suspected. “Although I actually suppose I can see how you _might_ miss it, since I _know_ you have all the parts I don’t.”

“Overly suspicious, are we?” She mocked and reached for her mug, only to discover it was empty.

“Carver,” their mother tried, which earned an instant burst of laughter from him.

“Sorry, Mother, you can start on that regret now,” he said with a smile once the louder and more obnoxious portion of his amusement dissipated.

“You _know,_ though,” Hawke said to Carver in an attempt at steering the conversation towards anything else, “Varric is going to absolutely _murder_ you if anything goes wrong, anyway, so maybe he really _should_ know ahead of time, just so we can all have that much more time to come to terms with the inevitable.”

“Fuck you,” Carver chuckled, obviously unmoved by her sarcasm, aware of where it came from.

“Just sayin’,” Hawke taunted. “Since, obviously, _I_ inherited all of Father’s charm, I’m sure there’s only so much you can do…”

“Yeah, you wish,” he scoffed, and she quickly shifted her eyes towards their mother to see if her resolve might have fallen, but that did not look to be the case.

She wished Anders would come back already, knowing her mother would drop it out of a sense of obligation to decorum once he did, but she also knew that whatever that call was had to be important for him to run out for it as he did.

“I don’t know, dear,” their mother spoke up again, much to Hawke’s chagrin. “I just feel like I must be missing something about an Ander orphan from Ferelden who’s close to the Couslands and is entirely _too_ uncomfortable talking about himself. There are so many blanks, and one would honestly think he’d even just have some interesting stories, _certainly_ some worth sharing.”

She had to bite back a sardonic laugh at her mother’s mention of “interesting stories,” had to bite back her automatic need to chastise her mother about not knowing the half of it, but she was desperately hoping this line of questioning could reach its end sooner than later, that she could simply deflect enough that her mother would give up. She’d had such a rough week, after all, and she was not at all interested in having to deal with this on top of her days on end of night terrors and panic attacks, although she was firmly aware of how unlikely it was that she would get her way on the matter as long as Anders remained outside the range of earshot.

“Leave the poor guy alone, Mother,” Carver said for her after lighting another cigarette. “I understand how weird it must be that someone who knows such important people would like _her,_ but I guess he must have his reasons.”

Hawke retorted only with her middle finger despite the look of unadulterated gratitude she also made a point to shoot his way, which he met with a short and hopefully inconspicuous nod.

“Maker’s breath,” their mother exhaled with a shake of her head. “Play nice, you two.”

“No,” both siblings replied in unison, and it looked like perhaps Carver’s persistent intervention was exactly what she needed, and again she tried to push down the bitterness behind that realisation.

She held in a sigh of relief when Anders walked back in a moment later, and she didn’t so much as give him the chance to reclaim his seat.

“I’m exhausted, love,” she cut in upon his approach. “Is it alright if we get going?”

“So soon?” Her mother asked suspiciously, and she didn’t have it in her to care. The excuse wasn’t exactly a lie, far from it in reality, and the fact that it would force the prevention of any potential further interrogations was just a nice bonus.

“It’s been a long week,” she said in a unnerving monotone, wishing she’d been able to add some inflection to it but far enough past the point of having any extra fucks to give to really think on it any more than that.

“Fair enough, dear,” her mother said politely. “Well, go home and get some rest, then, and I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Yeah, uh, we’ll figure it out,” she replied nonchalantly once she was standing, easily collecting her things into her bag while she moved.

“Thank you for dinner, Leandra,” Anders smiled only somewhat awkwardly, and that was that.

Short hugs and proper farewells were passed around the room, and Hawke hadn’t realised just how badly she really did want to get home already until they made it to the car.

“So,” she started as soon as he turned over the ignition. “What was that about?”

_“I hear the roar of a big machine, two worlds and in between…”_

“Ah,” he began with a small anticipatory smirk. “That was, umm…well, that was a call for _Justice.”_

“Details?” She asked with more excitement in her voice than even she would have expected.

_“I hear empire down…”_

“I have a friend who’s honestly probably responsible for pretty much every successful escape from the Gallows,” he explained. “And she called because she, ah, heard some interesting things about First Day.”

“Oh?” Hawke has grinning widely, probably the most genuine expression she’d made all week, and she had no desire to conceal it. “You know you can’t just leave me hanging there, love.”

_“I hear dive bombers and empire down, I hear empire down, I hear the sons of the city and dispossessed…”_

Anders laughed right along with her, and she could see the slight tension he’d had start to melt away.

“Well?” She prodded at him again, large eyes alight and smile firmly in place.

_“Get pretty but you and me, we got the kingdom, we got the key, we got the empire, now as then, we don’t doubt, we don’t take direction…”_

“Well,” Anders replied with an unabashed grin of his own, and when she turned to him she could see the pride in his eyes. “We all knew the mainstream media wasn’t going to cover it much, and that in anything we did get we were going to be demonised and the scale of it was going to be grossly minimised, and we were right. The internet, on the other hand, thanks to several participants’ cell phone cameras, has apparently blown the fuck up about it, the likes of which the Underground has never seen before.”

_“We look hard, we look through, we look hard to see for real…”_

“That’s fantastic!” Hawke nearly squealed. “But, umm, what does that mean exactly for…well, for us?”

_“Such things I hear, they don’t make sense, I don’t see much evidence, I don’t feel…”_

“It means they— _we_ are pushing to make another protest happen here as soon as humanly possible,” he answered, clearly making a concentrated effort to tone down his enthusiasm on the subject, even as she thought he had to know she’d see straight through it.

_“A long train held up page by page, a hard reign held up by rage once a railroad, now it’s done…”_

“Because people are actually finally starting to care?” She asked wistfully.

“Because people are actually finally starting to care,” he repeated in confirmation. “Or at least that’s what it’s beginning to look like, and there’s only one real way to know what kind of momentum this could gain.”

_“I hear the roar of a big machine…”_

“I’m in,” she said without hesitation, as if such a thing even needed to be said at all.

“I know, love,” he sighed, although it looked to her like he was coming to terms with it, coming to accept that she would sacrifice her safety for this cause every bit as willingly as he. She realised she could easily have been imagining it for her own peace of mind, but the idea that Anders might find some peace, himself, in knowing that no matter what happened she would be there, fighting by his side, was one that made sense, even if he wouldn’t want it to.

“Is there a date yet?” She was beaming by that point, and she couldn’t have cared less. She’d been needing some good news, and as far as she was concerned, this was by far the best they could possibly have received.

“Not yet,” he chuckled warmly. “I promise, though, to let you know when there is.”

_“I hear empire down…”_

“Good,” she nodded. “Very good.”

_“We got the empire, now as then, we don’t doubt, we don’t take reflection…”_

“How are you feeling, love?”

The question was in earnest, not at all meant to take away from the previous topic, and she knew it. There likely wasn’t actually anything of substance left to discuss on that matter, anyway, so she was able to take it for what it was.

_“Dance the ghost with me…”_

“Better than I have in at least a little while, honestly,” she answered quietly. “It’s definitely been an interesting evening for current events.”

“That, it certainly has,” he casually mused in return. “I am very curious to see what happens with Carver—”

“And Varric, for that matter,” she interrupted with a laugh.

_“Watching him dash away, swinging an old bouquet, dead roses…”_

“Eh, who knows,” Anders smiled. “Maybe it’ll all work out and Varric won’t have to kill anyone, after all.”

“This is weird,” Hawke teased. “You and Carver being all chummy or whatever. I really don't know what to do with all this.”

“Appreciate it for what it is?” Anders suggested, his tone perfectly edging its way directly into the border of the loving voice he so often used with her and the friendly, pseudo-professional one he regularly used during their meetings.

_“Passionate bright young things takes him away to war, don’t fake it…”_

“Yeah, fine,” she huffed playfully. “It turns out that’s an even better thing than I’d have thought, too, since my mother actually fucking listens to him and she’s starting to ask questions.”

“Oh? Umm, what did he say?”

_“Who will love Aladdin Sane? Battle cries and champagne just in time for sunrise…”_

“Oh, he was just very Carver about the whole thing, that’s all,” she replied in an oddly uncertain tone. “He pretty much just ended up flat-out telling her to leave it be, and she did because he said it, but I guess it’s worth mentioning that that’s still a thing.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

_“Clutches sad remains, waits for Aladdin Sane, you’ll make it…”_

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” she added after a very tense few seconds. “I mean, Carver really does like you, so as long as he’s in our corner you ought to be fine.”

_“Millions weep a fountain, just in case of sunrise…”_

She hadn’t even realised where they were or that he was parking until he came to a complete stop and turned off the car.

“I suppose there’s not really too much else we can do,” he said with a strange lightness she would not have anticipated as they exited the car and turned towards their building. “However all that goes is how it will go, and we’ll deal with it as it does.”

“We will, love,” she smiled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We usually are,” he said easily with a subtle shrug. After all, he wasn’t wrong.

“Valid point,” she agreed while she moved to open the front door and usher him through. “So it’s a safe assumption that your ideal plans for the rest of the night _also_ involve hot chocolate and bingeing Parks and Rec?”

“That sounds perfect, love,” he affirmed contentedly, one-handedly shifting around the keys he still held in order to single out the one they needed to get upstairs. “Has anyone made a point to make fun of Aveline and Donnic for basically fucking _being_ Leslie and Ben yet, by the way?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” she laughed. “Guess we’ll just need to do something about that.”

“Guess we will.”

They walked into the apartment greeted by Pounce, who immediately made sure they knew his dish had been emptied while they were gone, practically screaming at them all the way to the kitchen and up until the problem had been remedied, at which point he only briefly sniffed at the newly refilled bowl and then ran off.

“Fucking cats,” Hawke playfully quipped under her breath.

“I heard that,” Anders interjected in mock offense before quickly kissing her on the nose and then making for the cupboard to pick out mugs.

“Oh, come on, you know I love him,” she assured. “But come on, surely you also know…well, _fucking cats.”_

“Fair enough,” he grumbled jokingly. “Go get changed and sit down, love, I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” She really was exhausted, and it was a safe bet that he picked up on how bad off it was even better than she did, so she was as grateful for the nod he answered with as she was for the very offer to begin with.

“I think I can handle this one on my own, thanks,” he teased and held up both cups he’d grabbed.

She did as was requested and was again met with a very aggressive Pounce when she sat down on the couch, who appeared to be desperately craving attention this time around.

“Fucking cats,” she repeated with a smirk when he crawled over her lap and started purring as she pet him. As soon as he did she realised she wasn’t even sure she was going to make it through an episode, the weariness and sleep-deprivation rapidly making themselves better and better known, as if she hadn’t already been painfully aware of it by then.

It wasn’t much longer before Anders came in and set down their mugs on the coffee table before heading back to change as well, and when he returned she instinctively leaned into him to rest her head against his shoulder, barely even disturbing Pounce in the process, and inadvertently closed her eyes.

“Love?” Anders spoke up after a second, the sound of his voice soothing.

“I’m just gonna fall asleep right here, okay?” She chuckled slightly and felt his head lean into hers.

“We’ve done that, remember?” He laughed softly. “And it wasn’t particularly comfortable, if I recall correctly.”

_“You_ are, though,” she sighed.

“Alright, love, come on,” he said and shook his shoulder delicately, just enough to prompt her to move but not enough to risk a startle response.

She shifted herself well enough that he could lean forward to acquire the remote controls from the coffee table, and she could only smile at him while he turned everything on and found what he was looking for, setting them back down in the very same motion in which he hit the play button.

Television to distract, hot beverages to comfort, a soft cat’s loud purrs to mollify whatever ills her mind could conjure, and a loving partner to offer support, to support in return, to hold onto, to keep close. That was the only part of the evening that truly mattered to her in that moment, despite all the other details it had entailed.

She just wanted to sleep, to find a way to pacify the noise in her head so that she could enjoy what she had for what it was, and even for as tired as she was she had her doubts about how that would play out as the end of the night went along.

She closed her eyes and leaned herself into Anders once more, and she tried to remind herself that this was something. That this was so much more than she’d ever believed she could have, more than she would ever have dared to ask for. She took a deep breath and desperately tried to remind herself that this was home, and this was safe. Even when the world inside her was a fucking minefield, this was safe.

This was safe.


	62. Not Exactly Escapist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dysfunctional family mention, one very vague eating disorder nod, vague moment of accidental Karl feels
> 
> And for a maybe kind of weird heads up, this chapter also references Steven Universe and the Force Awakens in some detail, including a few potentially spoiler-y notes. Because why not, right? (Also because it's fucking adorable, okay.)
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke had a brief moment of panic when she woke up alone Sunday morning, but such worry was instantly alleviated when she rolled over to pick up her phone and noticed that it was just past noon, the time offering a perfectly logical reason why Anders was already up.

It did not explain, however, the sound coming from outside the bedroom, distinctly that of someone crying, and the fact that it was clearly not Anders.

Still, she took a moment to collect her waking mind and to curse herself for sleeping so late, especially on a day she’d have to get up early for work the next morning, and then groggily made her way into the main room in nervous anticipation.

She was surprised to see Merrill sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Anders’s side of the couch with a bowl of cereal carefully resting in her lap, albeit grateful to note that he also had one for himself on the coffee table, however slowly she could instantly tell he was picking away at it.

“She loved her, didn’t she?” Merrill asked Anders sadly. “I mean, she _loved her_ loved her?”

“Yes, I think she did,” Anders sighed.

“But…but she’s being so _unfair,”_ Merrill protested. “It’s not _really_ Steven’s fault she’s gone and…and it’s not Greg’s fault Rose loved _him,_ but…oh, Creators, I still feel so bad for her…”

“What are you watching?” Hawke asked quietly as she approached, empathy over the scene before her teeming through her voice despite how blatantly tired it also was.

“Good afternoon, love,” Anders teased, although she could also quickly see that he was also incredibly emotional over whatever it was. “You might want to find a microwave-safe cup for coffee…I made sure to save you some but it’s probably cold by now…”

“Steven Universe,” Merrill answered quietly. “I thought it was just going to be a silly cartoon at first, but I was very, very wrong.”

“Where’s Isabela?” It seemed an obvious question, asked without any real concern, as she firmly knew there was no way it could be an issue between them that brought Merrill over.

“She’s in Rivain,” Merrill answered with a shaky voice, but it was unclear whether that had anything to do with the actual response or was simply a result of her reaction to what they were watching. “She left after work last night and she’s coming home Tuesday morning. She decided she wanted to try to reach out to her mother, tell her about me and all that. I don’t think it’s going to go very well, to be honest, but neither does she. That’s why she planned the days the way she did, so I suppose we’ll just have to see what happens.”

“Is everything okay?” Hawke wasn’t really sure what sort of purpose such a vague and certainly unnecessary question would serve, but it was all she could think of to follow.

“In general, yeah,” Merrill answered sincerely. “They’ve never been close and her mother honestly sounds pretty toxic—in fact, marrying her ex was her mother’s _idea_ —but basically she’s making one last-ditch effort in light of, well…everything. Zevran’s actually going to meet up with her in Llomerryn, so at least they’ll be there for her if things do go poorly. I still feel bad that I didn’t go with her, even though she said she understood and she told me she didn’t want me to do anything I wasn’t 100% comfortable doing…but then the morning came and I guess I just sort of didn’t feel like being alone.”

“It seems like Zevran has been a very good friend to her, Merrill,” Anders told her when she promptly, awkwardly went to her cereal. “They’ll be there for her in Rivain, and of course Isabela knows you’ll be there for her when she gets home no matter what happens.”

“Ma serannas, Anders,” Merrill replied softly, looking back up momentarily. “You are right, Zev’s a _great_ friend. You should have _seen_ the huge fuck-off thing of flowers they sent us after she told them we got married. It was absolutely ridiculous and she wasn’t really sure if they meant it as a joke or not, but that’s just how their friendship is so it was very sweet of them either way.”

Merrill laughed shortly and then went back to eating, and Hawke took that as her cue to follow Anders’s suggestion in regards to coffee.

He was right that she would need to reheat it, but she was pleased that Pounce took it upon himself to keep her company while she waited, as pleased as she was to hear Anders and Merrill singing along to what she assumed to be the show’s theme at what was presumably the beginning of an episode.

“I wish I could help Lapis,” Merrill mused as Hawke walked back into the main room with her freshly hot coffee, followed by Pounce. “She’s just…she’s just so _sad.”_

“Alright,” Hawke started once she sat down next to Anders, “I’m gonna need you guys to catch me up.”

Merrill moved her bowl to reach towards Anders’s computer, apparently taking advantage of the fact that Hawke had recently shown him how to hook it up to the television, and paused the show so that she could explain that it was about humanoid gems from outer space who remained on earth to continue protecting it after being part of a rebellion to defend it from their homeworld’s leaders. She went on for a while about how Rose Quartz gave up her physical form to bring her half-human son, the titular character, into the world, and how Pearl was painfully (and obviously) in love with Rose.

She went further on into vastly extensive detail about how Lapis Lazuli had been trapped in a mirror for thousands of years and found out, after being freed, that the home she once knew and had so desperately wanted to return to was no longer truly the home she had left behind so long ago, how heartbroken she was over her circumstance and what all she had done to try to get home some episodes prior, and then how hard she was fighting for Earth after coming back to it, how far she was willing, even eager to go to sacrifice herself in the process. She remarked that while she also saw some of herself in her backstory, Lapis’s current story arc reminded her of Anders in a way, to which he tried to form a response and fumbled spectacularly.

By the time she finished her elaborate recap of the show up to where they were, Hawke was more than sold on it, so they continued where they’d left off mostly in silence aside from the occasional shameless moment of feelings taking over and of Pounce running around, as well as Merrill proclaiming at one point when he went to her for attention that she wanted to make him wings so they could dress him up like a griffon.

All in all, it was an exceptionally peaceful and pleasant way to spend a lazy afternoon.

***

Merrill left sometime around 6:00pm, at which point Hawke and Anders decided it would be a good time to order in for dinner. Hawke sat back down on the couch next to Anders after getting off the phone from doing so and he reached for the remotes. They had decided to cycle through Star Wars again, as Anders had absolutely fallen in love with them after finally seeing them for the first time, and she was never one to say no to rewatching the ones that she counted.

“I still want to see the prequels eventually,” Anders chuckled slightly once the Force Awakens, their selection for that particular evening, started playing. “Come on, surely you understand that I’d at least have to be a little curious—”

“Nope,” she laughed in return. “You’ll need to watch those on your own if you’re _truly_ so inclined, love, sorry. I get why you’d want to, really, but…I can’t do it, nope. I don’t think I love you quite _that_ much.”

“Ouch,” Anders teased with a smile. “Maybe I’ll ask Aveline—”

“Nope,” Hawke said again. “Trust me, you’ll have every bit as hard of a time with her, and don’t you ever even _mention_ them in front of Donnic, I’m warning you now…Carver, maybe, though. _Maybe._ He might be just young enough to at least not make fun of you for it.”

“You’re so cruel sometimes, you know that?” Anders asked playfully, casually linking his arm with hers while he did.

“Yeah, yeah,” she responded in a similar tone. “You love me, though.”

“I do,” he nodded, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“And you know I love you, too,” she said quietly, trying to stress the affection behind it after that brief moment of berating him so, despite how well they both knew it to be in jest. “Now _I’m_ curious, though—why do you like this one so much?”

He seemed to have the strongest preference for that particular episode, at least, both suggesting it and even simply mentioning it most often.

“Don’t you?”

“I do, definitely, it’s actually slowly but surely threatening to become my favourite,” she laughed, “but I can still wonder about your take on it.”

He looked contemplative for a moment, pausing as though to compile his thoughts to explain himself adequately.

“Well,” he started after a moment, and it was oddly endearing how his eyes moved back and forth between her and the film. “I mean, of course I know they’re _all_ about rebellion and overthrowing an oppressive regime and finding your own little family along the way, and _obviously_ that all feels very familiar, but…I don’t know, there’s just something _different_ about the dynamics in this one. Like how Finn was fucking _stolen_ from his family to be raised and groomed by that regime, but even through all their brainwashing he still saw through it and _got out,_ and how Rey is _so_ afraid to leave and to come to terms with who she is and what she’s missing and that she’s never getting it back…not even to mention what a fucking _fascinating_ case study Kylo Ren is…”

“What about Poe?” Hawke asked with a smirk. “See any of yourself in the sexy Resistance pilot?”

“Sorry, love, you already know the answer to that one,” Anders quipped. “Poe and Finn, though—I mean, that has _got_ to be a thing, right? Please tell me they’re going to be a thing.”

“They’d fucking better be,” Hawke answered quickly. “Honestly, just fucking _look at them,_ they’re so infatuated with each other already; there is _no_ way they don’t fall in love and live happily ever after. None. Besides, they owe us for Leia and Han.”

“Yeah,” Anders sighed. “That was one was, umm, that was _really_ rough, just…you know that moment where you can see that she _literally_ fucking _feels_ it, I—Maker…”

Hawke instantly realised that had hit a much too personal nerve for Anders, and swiftly decided to direct the conversation towards a slightly different path, although it wasn’t one she was sure really was any more appropriate just then.

“Speaking of rebellion amidst oppressive regimes…”

To her relief, Anders genuinely laughed at that, even though he shook his head as it trailed off.

“I haven’t heard anything more from Selby as of yet, love, sorry to disappoint,” he told her. “I told you, though, I _will_ let you know whenever I do.”

“I know, love, I know,” she let out slowly. “I’m just really excited knowing that we’ve been _heard,_ at least to some extent, you know?”

“I understand,” he nodded. “Me, too, honestly. More than I’d really like to admit, but I’ve learned well enough by now that you’d see right through me, anyway, even if I didn’t.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, just as he did, at the thought, and it felt so peaceful somehow.

“If we ever get another cat, can we name it BB-8?” Hawke asked with a large smile, turning her gaze back to the television.

“You want another cat?” Anders’s eyes widened so drastically when she looked back to him that even she wouldn’t have anticipated quite that level of enthusiasm, and she only laughed harder.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, love,” she said with an unapologetic grin. “I’m fairly certain we would _definitely_ need a bigger place first, but you know…maybe someday. If we got another orange tabby, though, or maybe even a calico, then the name would be just _too_ good…”

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he beamed wildly, the look in his eyes fervently echoing his words. “Maker, though, I’ve never truly given much thought to anything beyond… _this.”_

“Really?” It was obvious enough, and as soon as he said it she realised that of course such an idea would never have previously occurred to him, that even if it had he likely wouldn’t have wanted to move on from where he was so he could make sure he stayed close for emergencies. It dawned on her, too, that she wasn’t sure how well he’d handle being in a separate building, how he’d deal with knowing he wasn’t only a couple of flights of stairs away whenever he was needed most. He still did go out, though, she figured, it wasn’t like he spent his every moment hanging around and waiting to be put to use in the clinic, even though she was sure there had been a point where that was exactly what his life had looked like. Still, she was there, and they had each other and had the first real prospects of a future either had ever truly known. “You mean you don’t want to find some giant fuck-off condo in Hightown? We could get something super big but totally bland and fill it with overpriced Pottery Barn bullshit and live like gross yuppies except for all the cats we take in?”

“I’m listening on that last bit,” he chuckled and shook his head. “Although I’m not really sure how in the Void either of us would ever be able to _afford_ such a venture, even if that didn’t sound almost as bad as moving to Orlais beyond the cats…anyway, though, _about_ those cats—how many are we talking?”

“Careful, love,” she laughed, strangely clinging to her sarcasm even while it was clearly falling away, even though it suddenly felt so wrong to have been there at all. “Lirene and I _have_ had this conversation, and we are in agreement that you are _not_ to be encouraged.”

“Hmm,” he hummed with a small smile. “Perhaps I _shouldn’t_ have sent you to her, after all.”

“Hey now, _who’s_ paying for dinner?” She paused to lean to the side and nuzzle her nose against his neck in a very deliberately cat-like fashion, which caused him to squirm with a short giggle before he involuntarily pushed her away.

“Alright, love, I concede,” he offered warmly. “That’s still not really an answer, though. Cats, numbers, go.”

“I think two at a time is probably a healthy cut-off,” she told him, even at his predictable playful pout. “Again, with the bigger place thing. I can’t imagine any point in the even remotely foreseeable future that we’d be able to find somewhere within our budgets large enough for more than that, anyway. I mean, you need to have enough space to be able to introduce them slowly, and apparently the recommendation is to have as many litter boxes as you have cats and then one more, and we hardly have the space for Pounce’s as is it, so—”

“Have you researched this?” That large grin had returned, and at that he opted to pause the movie, since they were no longer giving it their full attention, anyway.

“Maybe a little,” she chuckled softly. “Like I said, though, there _will_ be limits.”

“Where would you want to go?” His tone became pensive, and he moved slightly to better look at her. “While we’re still in Kirkwall, I mean.”

“I guess I figured we’d stay in Darktown,” she shrugged. “Keep the clinic easily accessible and all. Lowtown would probably be in our price range, too, if we really wanted to move up in the world, but…you know.”

She laughed at herself at that remark, giving herself a second before she continued.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how much _serious_ thought I’ve given it, but…I guess I _have_ thought about it, though, that’s all. I still don’t want to stay in Kirkwall for the rest of my life, not really, but I’m realistic enough to know we’ll be here a while yet regardless, and for the first time in my life I actually feel like I have a long-term to consider, so…”

“Good,” he said quietly, that smile softened but still firmly in place. “Good, love, I’m glad.”

“Do you think we could convince the whole Crew to move with us whenever we do someday leave this shithole, though?” She laughed with a smirk, knowing that it really was a joke, for as much as she truly wanted it to be a serious question. “We could build a commune in Antiva City or some shit like that. Just us, and Aveline and Donnic, and Varric, and Merrill and Isabela, and Fenris, and then Zevran could visit easily…Void, they could even join if they like, it _does_ seem like they could benefit from being part of the group if only they didn’t live so far away. Call up your friends in Amaranthine, too, the more the merrier.”

“What about Carver?” Anders teased.

“What about him?” Hawke snickered and shook her head. “We can visit him on holidays or something. Or fuck it, he—and maybe even Norah, depending—could come out with us, too. We’ll make it work. Varric could open a sister location for the Hanged Man, expand it into an international chain. Maker knows he’d _love_ the sound of that, now that he’s gotten being a ‘successful businessman’ in his head and all.”

“I’ve heard some really bad shit about the crime rate in Antiva City, though—”

“We live in _Darktown,_ love.”

“Fair point. Never mind.”

“What about Amaranthine?” She didn’t know why the thought hadn’t occurred to her before then, although she realised as soon as she asked it that Anders might have good reason for the fact that he’d never vocalised such an idea, himself. She knew he left because he felt he had to, but at the same time he did still have friends there, as well as another cat, and it sounded like even the person whose absence there had inspired his own had made her return, so she didn’t see why he couldn’t do so, too. “I mean, I’ve heard it’s a nice city and you already have connections there.”

“You know,” he sighed, “I’d never even considered the possibility of going back there. I suppose it isn’t really out of the question anymore, though, now that you mention it.”

“Something to think about, at least,” she mused. “Someday, of course. Not anytime soon, I know, but maybe it’s an option for…someday. _Especially_ if we ever get chased out of Kirkwall fucking shit up with the Underground one of these days.”

“That’s really not funny, love,” he said seriously. He still worried about it, about her, because of course he did, and she couldn’t exactly argue about it after what happened their first time, although it didn’t in any way lessen her desire to.

“Sorry, love,” she tried with a large smile and a quick laugh. “That does seem to be the theme of the day, though, you know. First the Crystal Gems and now the Resistance— _obviously_ I’m gonna have rebellion on the brain even moreso than usual. You can’t really blame me.”

“No, love,” he replied, followed by a short nasal laugh. “No, I suppose I can’t. Speaking of which, do you mind if we start the movie over from the beginning?”

“Of course not,” she nodded. “Before you do, though, I have to ask…I know you weren’t thrilled about bringing friends in last time, so did you want to try to keep quiet about the next round? I feel like even Aveline will know better than to bring it up again, as would Carver if that hadn’t become a moot point, anyway, so I guess I just didn’t want to make any assumptions in the future.”

“Honestly,” he took a deep breath to collect his thoughts, and then shifted to make direct eye contact. “I know you know how much I hated everyone putting themselves in danger like that, but at the end of the day, it _was_ their choice to do so. Not only that, but if anything does go wrong again, well…Merrill’s point about safety in numbers did— _does_ —have its merit. I won’t say anything until I know more, but at this point it doesn’t seem right not to say anything at all.”

“Good,” she noted, perfectly mimicking the tone with which he’d said it only moments before. “Good, love, I’m glad.”

Anders shifted back to face forward and looked as though he was just about to start the film over when Hawke’s phone began vibrating from the coffee table.

“Oh, perfect timing,” she laughed just before she picked it up to answer. “Hello? Yes, I’ll be right down, thank you. Mmhm, bye.”

She set her phone down and replaced it with her keys, which she had also placed in front of her before she sat down so she’d have them ready for when she got the call, and she took a second to kiss Anders’s on the forehead before she stood up to answer the door.

“I _do_ still like that commune idea, though, just sayin’,” she chuckled before she opened the apartment door to head downstairs. “Something to think about is all.”

“Go, love,” he laughed, as well, clearly amused even though he shook his head at her at the same time. “We’ll start it over when you come back up.”

 _“Alright,”_ she huffed, obviously mocking them both, and then she finally opened the door to grab their food.

She never would’ve dreamed she’d enjoy trying to plan ahead in any capacity, even when such plans were laden with unfortunate sarcasm, but it felt so right to her anymore.

When she came back up they had to make a fuss about moving Pounce, who had been swift to take her place on the couch and who very much did not wish to be moved upon her return. It didn’t take long to get him to remove his claws from the cushion so they could get him up from the spot, and she couldn’t help but laugh the whole time they spent on the task.

They spent most of the rest of the night enveloped in the movie, in discussing their passionate theories about its budding relationships, and in each other, and she couldn’t wait for whatever came next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steven Universe and cereal with Merrill specifically by request of [Keerstan](http://kayth1.tumblr.com), my irl Varric. The rest of it mostly because I am fucking trash and it just felt right. :)
> 
> Feel free to follow me further down the landfill via [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), should you ever be so inclined.


	63. Goes Around and Around and Around, So It Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied/referenced abuse, toxic family, mentions of alcoholism, some general anxiety
> 
> Isabela's AU'd backstory is finally laid out and things are just sort of weird at times, I guess?
> 
> ["My Mind Is a Box" by Pretty Balanced](https://youtu.be/apADvKKMrb0)   
>  ["This Mess We're In" by PJ Harvey featuring Thom Yorke](https://youtu.be/BTrGowDPjBk)   
>  ["The Hanging Garden" by the Cure](https://youtu.be/R_9WSnnBmS0)   
>  ["No Leaf Clover" by Metallica](https://youtu.be/Fd9ohpDDCRU)   
>  ["Spiders" by System of a Down](https://youtu.be/SqZNMvIEHhs)   
>  ["Let Go" by Frou Frou](https://youtu.be/13WAhlE02ew)

“Uh, well,” Fenris started after a long stretch of awkward silence. “Hawke, I imagine you’ll be pleased to hear Carver will officially be working with me as of this upcoming Monday.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” she replied enthusiastically. “Thank you so much, you really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he smiled. “It was no trouble.”

She and everyone else then seemed to glance back and forth around the room and towards the hallway in nervous anticipation.

A quick look at her phone indicated that it was nearly 8:30, and every seat set up in the back of the clinic save for one had been occupied as usual for a Tuesday evening.

Merrill was, of course, the most anxious of them all, fidgeting while everyone else tried and generally failed to make some sort of small talk while waiting for Isabela to arrive. She was handling it fairly well, at least, since Isabela had informed her earlier that she’d missed her scheduled flight out of Dairsmuid and would therefore be running drastically behind schedule, but by that point she was still roughly two hours later than what her revised itinerary had implied.

“Maybe she had an extended layover, or maybe her new flight got delayed and she didn’t have a chance to call,” Merrill said aloud to no one in particular, and without any prompting.

“Probably,” Fenris answered quickly all the same. “Believe me, I’ve spent more than my fair share dealing with commercial transportation since I left Tevinter. It’s a fucking pain.”

“How’d she sound when you _did_ talk to her?” Anders tried, but Merrill shook her head.

“I don’t think it’s my place,” she answered softly. “She didn’t really have time to get too into it but…well, I guess just make sure she talks. I don’t actually know much, but I think she needs it.”

Another minute passed uncomfortably, the sound of Merrill tapping her feet seeming to echo from the floor throughout the entirety of the room.

“Oh hey, Red,” Varric spoke up, throwing in his attempt to break the strange silence that kept falling. “I got your save the date. I’ll have to see what I can do with my busy schedule and all, but you know…”

“Oh yes,” Merrill added cheerfully. “I put ours right on the refrigerator when it came in this morning, and I’ll make sure Isabela sees it when she gets home, too!”

“What the fuck, Aveline?” Hawke laughed. “We haven’t gotten anything…have we, love?”

“No,” Anders confirmed with a small laugh, as well. “No, we have not. Should we be taking any personal offense?”

“Oh shove it, you two,” Aveline replied lightly. “You know how much the postal carriers just _love_ to spend any real time in these areas. I bet Fenris got his last week, didn’t you?”

“Friday,” he chuckled. “My place might be _painfully_ overpriced, but at least if I ever get letters, I get them on time.”

“Well, _fine,”_ Hawke teased. “When are we talking, since we may or may not ever get our official notice?”

“First of Harvestmere,” Aveline laughed. “We decided we can make it work to get everything together by then—or, Maker help us, now, I suppose. And if Kirkwall’s weird weather decides to cooperate with us, we’re hoping we might even be able to catch the leaves changing, get a nice autumnal feel going for it.”

“Aesthetic,” Hawke playfully remarked with a slow, exaggerated nod. “Respect.”

Right as she was speaking that last word, everyone turned again towards the halls at what sounded distinctly like the slamming of the front door, bringing the room back to complete silence for the minute it took for Isabela to make her way in to join them, obviously distressed and followed by Zevran, whose air of calm was vaguely disconcerting in contrast.

“Sorry I’m—ah fuck,” Isabela huffed when she sat down, and Zevran casually shrugged and sat themself on the floor beside her.

Merrill wasted no time at all, hastily locking arms with Isabela and shifting her own chair closer to hers, to which Isabela sighed and turned towards Merrill to whisper rapid apologies and endearments.

“Are you okay?” Merrill asked quietly, and Isabela simultaneously shook her head and shrugged her shoulders once again.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Isabela started again after her brief exchange with Merrill. “I got _severely_ fucked over by airline scheduling and by…well, Rivain.”

“Nice to see everyone again, by the way,” Zevran smiled charismatically with a short wave.

“You, too, Zev,” Merrill responded with momentary enthusiasm. “I didn’t know we’d be seeing you, as well!”

“Ah yes,” they chuckled, looking over their shoulder to address her directly. “I spent an arm and a leg to get a last-minute ticket on Isabela’s flight, but these are simply the things you do for friendship, no?”

“Of course,” Anders said lightly. “Welcome, and while I’m not sure how much it _really_ matters in your case, I imagine it’s a safe assumption that Isabela has informed you of the rules of the group?”

“Indeed,” Zevran nodded. “Your secrets are all safe with me, my friends.”

“Don’t worry, for as much of a pain in the ass as they may be,” Isabela tried to smile, “you all know already that I trust Zev with my life—and in fact, I _have,_ several times even…this past weekend _not_ excluded, alas…”

There was a sharply bitter edge to the end of her thought, and she followed with a deep breath and another long sigh.

“So, what happened this weekend?” Anders asked after a pause, allowing Isabela to compose herself at least somewhat.

“Well, Kitten said that she already told you my dumb ass went to Rivain to see my fucking mother for whatever fucking reason I thought _that_ could possibly be anything short of the worst idea I’ve ever had,” she laughed coldly, humorlessly. “It went about as well as expected, so…you know, I guess I got what was coming to me for being daft enough to go to begin with.”

“You know,” Fenris looked to her carefully before continuing. “I don’t think you have ever really talked about her. You might even make me look open and personable by comparison.”

“Well, fuck me,” Isabela shook her head, fortunately able to respond to Fenris’s sarcastic tone and good intentions, and to at least attempt to play along in her own delivery and demeanor. _“Obviously_ we can’t go around acting like _you’re_ the well-adjusted one between us, so…”

“Precisely,” Fenris replied with a smirk.

“So, my mother’s a cunt,” Isabela stated bluntly. “I won’t pretend she had it easy or anything, I know it’s gotta be rough raising a kid on your own when you don’t even really have enough to provide for yourself, but that still doesn’t exactly justify her at the end of the day. There were periods when we flat-out lived on the street begging for coin with cardboard signs, and then she got into some really shady shit to try to make ends meet. Selling fake watches and purses, stealing, dealing drugs, all sorts of fuckery you should _totally_ be bringing along your small child to be an accomplice in, for sure. And she was…she was never very _nice,_ you know? I didn’t even find out it was weird to never feel like your mother loved you until much later, but I truly don’t know if she ever did. It’s worth noting that she _has_ since found religion and been ‘saved’ from her past deviant ways or whatever, although that also means that I am now an irredeemable heathen destined for eternal damnation or some such noise, so you know, good times were had by all.”

“Fuck,” Varric remarked after a moment. “Why’d you even go?”

“Fuck if I know, honestly,” Isabela muttered tersely. “If it’s closure I wanted, though, I think I found it.”

“How so?” Anders asked delicately, leaning forward the smallest bit to better look at her.

“Oh but Isabela, you forgot the part about Luis,” Zevran added, which caused Isabela to cringe.

“Dammit, Zev,” she scowled. “I know this is why I brought you along and all, but… _dammit, Zev.”_

“Sounds familiar,” Varric laughed and looked at Hawke and then at Aveline, and the latter party rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You could at least _try_ to be appropriate every once in a while, you know,” she noted flatly, but Isabela waved her hand at her.

“It’s alright, Big Girl, for once he’s really not wrong,” she said with a small nasal laugh. “And I’m sure _that_ won’t happen again, so let’s just let him have this one.”

 _“Isabela,”_ Merrill and Zevran cut in at almost the same time, concern evident in both voices.

“Fine, fine,” she scoffed and then shifted forward to better match Anders’s posture, but Merrill successfully kept herself attached while she moved. “I just wanted to…I don’t know, I wanted to see what could happen, I guess. After everything Kitten went through it didn’t feel right not to at least _try._ Hawke knows what I mean, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, strangely uncomfortable with even that small moment of acknowledgment, unsure what to do with the idea that her own actions might have contributed to Isabela’s, especially with how they had turned out so very differently.

“I thought…I don’t know, fuck,” Isabela went on, looking back to Anders for support. “I thought—or at least there was a part of me that _wanted_ to think—that maybe enough time had passed and that maybe she’d even find it in her to be happy for me, but I also think I knew it wouldn’t go down that way. She’s still never admitted her faults in putting me in so many dangerous situations as a kid, she _definitely_ did not give a single fuck about my second marriage, and now I am even more certain than I was before that she will never apologise for my first.”

Zevran playfully leaned into Isabela and rested their head against her leg, which got a chuckle out of her even after that, and Merrill was clearly relieved to see it.

“You are doing so well,” Zevran told her. “I told you so.”

“Fuck you, too,” Isabela smiled weakly, obviously forcing it through her growing tension.

“Ah, but you are only just getting to the good part,” Zevran teased, and even for as on-edge as she was, their effort kept getting through.

“I was still practically a fucking child when I married Luis,” Isabela said tersely. “Just shy of 19, actually. I don’t think anyone genuinely believed it was a good idea, but she pushed for it anyway. You see, Luis had _money._ And of course, while I’ll never deny that money has a stronger correlation with happiness than the clichés want you to think it does, in this case they were entirely unrelated and money was the _far_ more important issue, whether I agreed with that or not. I don’t really even know what all led up to it at this point, but he was older and creepy as fuck but strongly interested, and my mother was _insistent._ I’m pretty sure she would’ve forged my signature on the marriage certificate or some shit if I hadn’t ended up just doing it to shut her the fuck up; in any case, there wasn’t ever a point where I had any real say in this. Or, fuck, at least it never _felt_ like I did—she was always _very_ good at that. But, well, since all of you have any fucking common sense, I’m sure it sounds like the natural outcome that it wasn’t exactly a positive experience. I wasn’t so much a person to him but an object, and I was treated accordingly. And if nothing else, you all know me well enough by now that I can spare you the finer details and you’ll understand what I mean, yes?”

Everyone nodded sympathetically except for Zevran, who remained firmly in place, which seemed to serve as their own version.

“Of course,” Anders made a point to vocalise, his voice laced with warmth and understanding.

“Anyway,” she went on further, frustration teeming along with how badly she wanted to get this over with, which became more and more apparent by the second. “Long story short, the bitch cut me off even after all that because she joined a fucking cult and I wouldn’t follow, and it wasn’t too long after that bullshit that Luis died—drunk driver, very tragic, I’m a terrible person for celebrating, blah-blah—and I hadn’t set foot in Rivain since until now.”

She was visibly shaken when she finished, and she looked to be completely physically and emotionally exhausted by the ordeal.

“You’re alright,” Merrill affirmed softly, leaning in to kiss Isabela’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kitten,” she returned in nearly a whisper before going back to addressing the group as a whole. “I, umm, I think I’m good now.”

“Are you?” Anders asked, as doubtful over how okay she really could be as anyone.

“No, but…also yes?” She took another deep breath and seemed to search herself for words. “I was serious about the closure thing, at least. That chapter is over and now I am officially closing the whole fucking book on it, and that’s honestly sort of okay. I feel really fucking stupid for how much time and money I wasted on what I knew would be a pointless excursion, but now it’s done. I guess there was really only one way to know for sure if it would turn out that way, and it did and I can finally move the fuck on.”

“Hey now,” Varric chimed in with a grin. “For better or worse, you know you still have us.”

“Thanks,” Isabela smiled slightly. “If it weren’t for you fucks, I really don’t think I’d ever even have _tried_ to learn to trust again, and that’s on my mother every bit as much as it is Luis—fuck, maybe even more. It’s a work in progress, but it helped knowing I had people to come home to.”

“Your friends are the dysfunctional family you choose, or something to that effect, right?” Fenris chuckled.

“And you certainly have _that_ in spades,” Aveline agreed.

“Anyone mind if we move this to the Hanged Man?” Isabela asked after a second, a lightness in her tone that did nothing to take away from the fact that her request was entirely sincere.

“I’m good with that,” Varric answered immediately.

“No one fucking asked _you,”_ Fenris laughed. “Does Varric want to go to the Hanged Man? Is fire hot? Is the sky blue? Does Anders want to burn down the Chantry?”

“Please don’t give him ideas, Fenris,” Aveline scoffed jokingly.

“Right, because I’m so sure the thought had never crossed his mind before now,” Fenris retorted.

“Of course not,” Anders chimed in with genuine laughter before collecting himself to address the rest of the group. “Well, I suppose adjourning to the tavern isn’t _entirely_ out of the question if that’s really what you want, Isabela. Does anyone have any objections or anything else to discuss here?”

A consensus was promptly reached that they would, in fact, be relocating for the remainder of their time together that evening, and everyone immediately filed out once the agreement was confirmed to regroup at the Hanged Man.

***

_“My attention is cached so don’t talk to me anymore, be the subject terrifying or important or pure; my cigarettes are spent so don’t expect productivity, be the matter just or crucial or personal or reactive…”_

Merrill sat back down after taking a few minutes to play around with the jukebox with her personal selections as well as requests from the others for while she was up, and then to catch Norah’s attention, and Hawke found herself already trying to brace herself against all of the tongue-biting she assumed she’d be in for.

_“My mind is a box and you put things in and you take things out and it’s empty; my mind is a box and you gut it then and you flatten it and you leave me blank…”_

“So how long are you planning to be in town this time around, Zevran?” Hawke asked as she lit a cigarette and at the same time weighed her options for what—or even if—she wanted to drink.

_“So fill me up with chemicals or other people’s words, I shout it from this pretty hole in modes and fifths and thirds, my mind is a box, my mind is a lie…”_

“I actually haven’t thought that far ahead, to be perfectly honest with you,” they chuckled. “I only bought a one-way ticket since we were in such a hurry, so I suppose that will depend solely on the hospitality of these lovely ladies.”

They gestured towards Isabela and Merrill with a wink, causing everyone else at the table to laugh.

_“My mind is a line running down my spine like a vine of green and psychedelic, iridescent rainbows; my body is built like a function of mechanics, like a robot when he gives himself his own petty instructions…”_

“You’re always welcome as far as I’m concerned,” Merrill offered. “Creators only know how much I owe you, after all.”

“You are too kind, my dear,” Zevran grinned.

“Quite,” Isabela laughed uncomfortably, and Merrill’s large eyes set straight onto hers.

“Ma vhenan?” She prodded softly. “What is it?”

“Rescinding my invitation so soon?” Zevran joked, most likely only trying to lighten the moment.

“No, of course not, you _ass,”_ Isabela looked to her oldest friend first, before turning her gaze to her wife. “I don’t know, I just…I just don’t understand why you seem to think I’m worth so damn much sometimes.”

She shook her head and pulled out her own cigarettes, staring intently at the table while she started on one.

_“So fill me up with chemicals or other people’s words…”_

“Isabela,” Merrill and Zevran spoke together again, which only prompted another shake of her head.

“Hey,” Merrill said alone that time, moving in to get herself as close as possible in their new setup. “It doesn’t matter. We love you, okay? All that counts right now is that you know that.”

“I do, Kitten, thank you,” she replied after a moment, hesitantly lifting her head. “See? This is why I need a fucking drink.”

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke laughed despite herself, even while she internally cursed how terribly inappropriate it was. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, I know, I just…it’s like I’m looking into a fucking mirror right now, honestly, just…”

_“Just fill me up with chemicals or other people’s words, I shout it from this pretty whole in modes and fifths and thirds…”_

“You’re alright, Hawke,” Isabela smiled, and it almost looked as though she meant it. “You do need to see that for yourself someday, too.”

_“I steep up an infusion there and pour it on these keys, I’m influenced so easily, so influence me, please…”_

“Maker, we’re getting all mushy now,” Varric teased.

“Hey, don’t forget,” Aveline said sharply. “We are technically still in meeting right now.”

“So you are free to get as mushy as you like,” Anders nodded with a smile.

“Well, in that case,” Merrill added instantly, “I still say that unless Isabela has any _legitimate_ objections, Zev, you’re free to crash with us as long as you like, with my gratitude.”

_“Can you hear them, the helicopters…”_

“You certainly do know how to argue, Kitten,” Isabela noted affectionately. “Besides, you know I could never turn you away, Zev, possibly despite my better judgment.”

“Oh, Isabela,” Zevran chuckled with a cocky grin. “I believe I am your _best_ judgment. Or no, actually, I have absolutely been demoted to second best now, I would have to say, but still.”

_“You look me in the eye directly, you met me, I think it’s Wednesday, the evening, the mess we’re in…”_

Anders was absent-mindedly singing along and Hawke couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at him, hoping enough focus would linger elsewhere to prevent the usual jokes at their expense.

_“And oh (the city sunset over me), oh (the city sunset over me)…”_

She barely even noticed the fact that she was quietly singing with him, automatically taking PJ Harvey’s parts where he took Thom Yorke’s, and it made her feel strangely at ease to do so, even though she felt herself stop abruptly and painfully awkwardly when Norah approached. She decided on a cider, and everyone except for Isabela and Fenris ordered something of comparable alcohol content. While the former predictably went the stronger route, Fenris didn’t order anything at all, which immediately caught Anders’s attention.

“Hey, are you—”

“Still not sure,” Fenris shrugged. “I’m testing it, I suppose. My home has been voided of all but fucking baby drinks, and I will have to see how I feel tomorrow, and even again on Saturday, but for right now I guess I’d just like to see if I can go a night out without giving in to temptation, so I can figure out how bad off I really may be.”

_“Impossible dream and I have seen the sunrise over the river, the freeway reminding of this mess we’re in…”_

“I know I don’t need to say it by now,” Anders began, but he was cut off by an appreciative nod.

“No, you don’t,” Fenris laughed softly. “I promise, I will let you know if I need anything.”

_“What were you wanting (was that what you wanted), don’t ever change (don’t ever change now, baby), and thank you (and thank you)…”_

“Andraste’s ass, are you two even remotely aware of yourselves?” Varric mocked, and she realised they had been doing it again, once more claiming their individual parts, although she thought (or at least hoped) they were a bit quieter about it that time. She had not actually been aware of it, however, and the look on Anders’s face indicated that he hadn’t been, either.

“Oh, let them be,” Zevran defended. “It’s quite precious, you two. I can see you are very fortunate to have found one another.”

_“Before the sunrise (and the city landscape comes into view), over the skyscrapers (sweat on my skin, oh), the city, the mess we’re in…”_

“I agree, Merrill, we really should keep this one around,” Hawke laughed, mildly embarrassed over being called out by Varric in such a manner, although she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Alright, drinks,” Norah chuckled when she returned. “Sorry it took me so long to get to you, you’re throwing off my whole routine showing up on a Tuesday like this.”

_“Creatures kissing in the rain, shapeless in the dark again…”_

“What can we say?” Varric snickered. “We just missed you that much.”

“So sure,” Norah snarked back. “My tips better reflect that tonight, then.”

_“In the hanging garden, please don’t speak, in the hanging garden no one sleeps…”_

“Don’t they always?” Isabela smiled, and Norah stuck her tongue out at her. “Oh come on, you know we really do love you.”

“Mmhm,” Norah smirked. “I brought you a water, Fenris, if you want it.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, and then graciously accepted the small plate of lemon wedges she wordlessly offered to accompany it.

_“Catching halos on the moon gives my hands the shape of angels…”_

“Did something change or happen?” Anders tried again, looking back to Fenris. “You’d expressed concern before and all, but—”

_“In the heat of the night, walking into a dream…”_

“Oh, Maker,” Fenris shook his head. “I, er, fell into a rather…uncomfortable circumstance and I believe wine to be at least partially responsible for it unfolding as it did, so I am simply allowing the consequences to reap themselves.”

_“Fall, fall, fall, fall into the walls, jump, jump out of time…”_

“Details, please,” Isabela laughed, and Hawke could never have previously imagined Fenris had it in him to turn quite that shade of red.

_“Fall, fall, fall, fall out of the sky…”_

“So what kind of poor life choice did you end up trying to fuck?” Varric snickered.

“Charming as always, Dwarf,” Isabela rolled her eyes swiftly.

“Fortunately nothing got too out of hand, only some fairly awkward and very much unreciprocated flirting, really, and he appeared to be genuinely flattered as opposed to bothered by it,” Fenris sighed. “But yes, Varric, what you so eloquently inquired about is precisely what happened.”

_“Creatures kissing in the rain, shapeless in the dark again…”_

“Oh, but you would make for such a lovely catch,” Zevran remarked playfully, their own genuine charm positively undeniable.

_“In the hanging garden, change the past, in the hanging garden wearing furs and masks…”_

“Isabela, how seriously should I be taking this?” Fenris laughed.

“You never know, really,” she laughed, as well. “Probably something to make a legit mental note of, though, if you’re desperate enough.”

“As if you have any room to talk,” Zevran teased. “I never joke about such things, however, just for the record.”

_“Fall, fall, fall, fall into the walls…”_

“Good to know,” Fenris nodded awkwardly, and Hawke wondered if Zevran would not end up spending that particular night with Isabela and Merrill, after all. “Although, I suppose it may be best to put this out on the table now just in case you hear of it later, Hawke—”

_“Fall, fall, fall, fall out of the sky…”_

“Oh no,” she laughed, suspicious of where this was leading and almost hoping she was right, given how hilarious she found even the idea of it.

“I do hope it doesn’t put you in any unwelcome position with your brother later on,” Fenris said dryly. “As I said, he seemed perfectly fine with it when we spoke, but I suppose you never know and since he and I will soon be working together—”

“Carver’s a good sport, Fenris, don’t worry,” Hawke assured, far more entertained than she wished to let on that she was in fact correct in her assumption. “I know I’ve said he was a huge dick when we were kids, and he was, but _that_ was never one of his problems. It’s actually just nice to know you two’ve become such good friends, I didn’t realise.”

“Oh no, did we _really_ let another heterosexual into the inner circle?” Isabela sighed sarcastically. “We get one token straight, alright, and Big Girl’s already got that covered.”

“What about Donnic?” Aveline laughed in retort. “I’ve brought him in enough to count.”

 _“He_ gets a free pass for being yours, sweet thing,” Isabela chuckled. “He’s the straight’s straight, it all works out somehow. Carver has no excuse.”

“If I had a sovereign for every time I’ve said those exact words, myself,” Hawke teased, and as everyone laughed, any lingering discomfort was washed away.

_“And it feels right this time, on this crash course with the big time, pay no mind to the distant thunder, new day fills his head with wonder…”_

“Norah!” Isabela called out abruptly when she was within potential earshot of the table. “Double shot of Jameson, please!”

“Isabela,” Anders looked to her with worry in his eyes, which she brushed off.

“I’ve got some images I need to burn out of my brain now,” she answered with an obscene grin.

_“Says it feels right this time, turned it ‘round and found the right line, good day to be alive…”_

“Can’t argue with that one,” Hawke laughed, even though that did not quell Anders’s concern and she certainly shared it.

Across the table, Aveline finished her beer and then picked up her phone to glance at the lock screen, putting it back down before speaking up.

“I should probably get going,” she said reluctantly. “I have work in the morning, you know the drill. Plus, it is getting late and I _do_ have my straight to get home to. We don’t want to frazzle his poor heterosexual mind, now, do we?”

“Good call, Big Girl,” Isabela laughed. “I know how very fragile those can be. Just remember, we know it wasn’t your choice and while we may not necessarily agree with your lifestyle, we love and accept you no matter what.”

“Love you, too,” Aveline smirked as she stood up.

“See you tomorrow?” Merrill asked once Aveline had herself ready to leave.

“We’ll see,” she replied. “You fuckers really love to keep me out late on work days, don’t you?”

“We just like to see you having fun, you know that,” Merrill smiled at her, and Aveline returned the expression before waving around the group.

“I’ll see you soon,” she noted before she walked off to leave.

_“Don’t it feel right like this, all the pieces fall to his wish, sucker for that quick reward…”_

“Wait, Varric,” Isabela perked up after a moment which also involved the arrival of her drink order and its prompt disappearance. “What’s _your_ deal?”

“And just what’s _that_ supposed to mean, Rivaini?” Varric scoffed and lit a cigarette.

“Can’t I be curious?” Isabela laughed and picked her pack up again, taking a second to count how many she had left before deciding to light another. “Boys, girls, both, anyone outside the binary, none of the above?”

“My _deal_ is none of your fucking business,” Varric responded defensively, but he instantly backed down when Isabela made a face that blatantly indicated guilt over asking. “Sorry, I just got a lot of shit growing up, but…I don’t really _have_ a deal—or I suppose it would fall into ‘none of the above,’ sorry to disappoint you. There won’t be any sordid tales from my end, so I guess I’ll just keep having to tell all of yours.”

“Wait…why would that disappoint anyone?” Merrill asked sincerely.

Varric only shrugged, and that appeared to be the end of it. He was clearly relieved by that and how no one actually seemed to care in the slightest, although Hawke knew he’d never admit to it.

“This evening has certainly turned out to be more interesting than expected,” Fenris laughed, and his eyes shifted in Zevran’s direction.

_“Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel is just a freight train coming your way, yeah…”_

“Doesn’t it always?” Anders chuckled lowly and took a short sip from his cider.

“Pretty much,” Fenris agreed.

“My presence tends to have that effect on people,” Zevran laughed. “And you are most welcome.”

_“Then it comes to be, yeah, then it comes to be…”_

“It’s weird to have someone with self-esteem around,” Varric teased. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay too long, after all.”

“What can I say?” Zevran laughed. “I try to avoid spending time with people I don’t like, and given the fact that I find myself rather stuck with me…”

They offered a large smile once they trailed off, plainly hiding something deeper, but there seemed to be a silent agreement between the rest of them not to push it just then.

_“The piercing radiant moon, the storming of poor June, all the life running through her hair…”_

“Well,” Hawke chimed in after a second. “In that case you should make sure you _do_ stick around for whatever the fuck these assholes are planning for my birthday, just to make it extra fun for Varric.”

_“Approaching guiding light, our shallow years in fright, dreams are made winding through my head…”_

“Ah come on, you know I was kidding,” Varric followed with feigned annoyance.

“Of course I know this,” Zevran answered for themself before turning to Fenris. “So, are we doing this or not?”

_“Before you know, awake…”_

“Maker’s breath, what’s your hurry?” Fenris laughed awkwardly, blatantly leaning towards the affirmative.

_“Your lives are open wide, the V-chip gives them sight, all the life running through her hair…”_

“Well, I will need to text my girlfriend ahead of time,” Zevran explained. “It’s a long-distance thing right now, you see, and we are entirely open, but the only caveat is that the other must always be informed of the situation, as we are in agreement that the only way we can do this is with full transparency.”

“That is fair,” Fenris nodded, appearing contemplative for a moment before making a clear decision. “Alright, then, let her know we’re doing this.”

Isabela was cackling from beside Zevran, taking several deep breaths to compose herself before attempting to add anything to the conversation.

_“Through my head, before you know, before you know I will be waiting all awake…”_

“Oh thank you, both of you,” she finally blurted out cheerfully. “Oh, fuck, I needed this, you’ve made my whole night…”

“But that’s supposed to be my job!” Merrill added with a laugh.

_“Dreams are made winding through her hair…”_

“It is, Kitten, and you do it better than anyone, and now that it’ll just be the two of us at home tonight...hold on, though—since when the fuck do you have a girlfriend, Zev?”

“Ah, well,” they looked up from their phone for a second, and then proceeded to finish typing before moving back to Isabela’s question. “Arguably for a few years, actually.”

“Arguably?” Hawke wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask, but she was far too interested in what such a clarification would entail.

_“Drink up, baby doll, are you in or are you out? Leave your things behind ‘cause it’s all going off without you. Excuse me, too busy, you’re writing your tragedy, these mishaps, you bubble wrap, when you’ve no idea what you’re like…”_

“There was a lot of uncertainty between us for a while,” they began. “For starters, there is the issue that we live in separate countries, although I am currently trying to figure out if that is something I may be able to fix. Ferelden would never have been my first choice of potential places to settle, but I happen to like her a great deal, so compromises may have to be made.”

“Oh my,” Isabela chuckled and leaned into the table to rest her chin on her hands. “Do go on, please and thank you.”

_“So let go, let go, just get in, oh it’s so amazing here, it’s alright ‘cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…”_

“Her job also forces her to travel terribly often, so all of that simply made things rather complicated for some time,” Zevran continued. “As it goes, however, I care for her quite deeply and it appears as though such feelings are mutual, so it has been about a year now since we made things official. I cannot believe I never mentioned it to you, although that may, perhaps, have been my own dreadfully persistent anxieties coming through, you understand.”

“Of course I do,” Isabela smiled at them sincerely. “You know damn well I have to give you shit for it all the same, though. And I obviously need to know everything there is to know about her so I can decide whether or not she earns my approval...”

_“Such boundless pleasure, we’ve no time for later, now you can’t await your own arrival…”_

“That is most important, true,” Zevran laughed. “She is also the friend I met Morrigan through, but actually, perhaps even more importantly, I discovered that she knows _you,_ and quite well at that, Anders.”

“Oh no,” Anders replied cheerfully. “There is literally only one person you could _possibly_ be referring to—”

“Elissa misses you very much, by the way,” Zevran chuckled. “I believe her exact words were, ‘I cannot fucking believe that of all the wayward children in Thedas you had to find mine, and please tell that motherfucker to call me or so help me, I will end you both.’”

_“So let go, jump in, oh well, what are you waiting for? It’s alright ‘cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…”_

“Well,” Hawke said warmly and turned to Anders. “Someone makes an impression, apparently.”

“Does she really see you as a fucking child, though?” Merrill scowled. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not right.”

“It’s not _really_ like that, Merrill, although I do appreciate the thought,” Anders assured her. “It was sort of a joke between us, I guess, with how protective she was and how she actually had the power to make good on that protectiveness, so that kind of became our thing, I suppose.”

_“Oh it’s so amazing here, it’s alright…”_

“As I say, however,” Zevran interjected. “Please call her, for I will never hear the end of it if you don’t.”

“Thank you, Zevran,” Anders smiled.

“Elissa also says she hopes we have fun tonight, my friend,” Zevran said to Fenris after a glance at their phone. “So on that note, shall we?”

“Yes, I think I’m ready to head out, anyway,” Fenris laughed.

_“It’s alright ‘cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…”_

“Same, actually,” Hawke noted, surprising herself with a yawn. “How about you, love?”

“Now that you mention it,” Anders agreed. “Are we all calling it a night, then?”

“Looks like it,” Isabela replied. “You are officially off-duty now, it’s alright.”

Goodbyes were passed around between them before they all went off in whatever direction they were going in.

The drive back to their building was quiet, but Hawke decided the obvious question had to be asked once they were home and started readying themselves to wind down for the night.

“Love, why _haven’t_ you called Elissa yet?”

Anders sighed and sat down on the bed, with a shirt still only halfway over his head.

“I don’t know,” he answered and hastily shrugged it the rest of the way on.

“Anders…”

“Alright, love,” he smiled awkwardly and she sat down next to him. “I think maybe I just worry what she’ll think of everything I’ve done…everything I’ve become since I last saw her.”

“What does that mean?” Hawke leaned her head into his shoulder and automatically moved a hand to run along his leg.

“She helped me so much and I feel like I’ve turned my back on it sometimes.” He was quiet, managing to sound far too remarkably unsure of himself even as he actively expressed how very accurate that was. “I told you, the plan was for me to go to the city and become a doctor, and to do it legitimately. I wasn’t supposed to use her charity to run off to the ultimate garbage pit of the Free Marches chasing ghosts and hiding, not even to mention that whole thing where I’m a prominent member of what’s largely considered a fucking terrorist organisation, regardless of how _disgustingly_ inaccurate _that_ may be…”

“I don’t know, love,” Hawke mused. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’ve taken quite a bit from her influence. You know, helping those in need, picking up wayward children…”

She ended on a tiny laugh, and he offered one in return.

“Valid,” he nodded, and she took that as her cue to sit up. “I’ll call her tomorrow, alright?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently cannot make up my mind on whether or not I'm going full Hamilton or failing at everything entirely, hahaha. I start in one and then get excited about it and rapidly devolve back into the other so it still takes me way longer than I want, lul. I believe I'm also doing that thing I do again where I overthink and start worrying too much about how long this fic is to the point that it obstructs my ability to continue writing adequately, so thanks to my brain for being an asshole, lul…even though I am somehow still writing faster than my brain can catch up and therefore continuously surprising myself as though it makes any possible sense for this all to exist at once. Yay for more Zevran, though, right?
> 
> And of course, if you ever want to fall further down into the landfill, feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	64. Bridges Between, Bridging Across

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: honestly, nothing much...a lot of anxiety, but that's about it
> 
> ["Blasphemous Rumours" by Depeche Mode](https://youtu.be/MFD8AkiQhvg)   
>  ["Flood II" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://youtu.be/QL-4OnrQp-8)   
>  ["Machine Gun" by Portishead](https://youtu.be/sc-pHFzDkpU)   
>  ["Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads](https://youtu.be/hFLiKLoxWD8)

“Hey, umm, Eliss—ah, yeah, it is…yeah, it’s me, yeah, hey…”

Anders was pacing around the kitchen, audible through the open window while she sat out on the fire escape playing around with her phone and smoking. She was intentionally remaining within earshot but also allowing him space, just as he had requested before he finally found it in him to pick up his phone and make that call he was so nervous to make.

“I, uh, I’m actually doing alright, honestly, how are you?”

_“I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours but I think that god’s got a sick sense of humour, and when I die I expect to see him laughing…”_

“Umm, I hear Ser Pounce-a-Lot is doing well, too…”

It sounded like he was already struggling to make small talk and reluctant to try to move past that point yet, and it took all the self-control she possessed not to intervene. She would not take this moment away from him or taint it in any manner, but she knew how much he needed this and needed this to go well, so the temptation presented itself all the same.

“Oh, you know I did,” he laughed, and it was the least anxious sound that had come from him since before he even started talking to her. “We just call this one Pounce…”

Hawke laughed to herself, as well, that of course it would be discussing his cat that could allow a momentary break through his shell, and she silently hoped it would last.

“I am, sort of, well—yes, yes, I…I didn’t, actually, I didn’t stay that long after you…uh, but I—I’ve made it work—I _make it_ work, I do, and it’s been good, it’s been, well, it’s been pretty good—I have a lot of help still, don’t worry, you…you know me…I know, I know…”

Hawke stood up to peek in on him at that, but he waved her down as soon as he saw her, but she was immeasurably relieved when she sat back down and heard him start to laugh again.

“Yeah, I know, fucking Kirkwall of _all_ places, I—no, I guess I really can’t keep out of trouble, can I? Ah well, like I said, you know me—I know, it has been so long, but…”

_“Birds were singing in the summer sky, then came the rain and once again, a tear fell from her mother’s eye…”_

It was warm out for the time of year, nothing too extreme but an expected level of weird for Kirkwall, and Hawke tossed the end of her cigarette into the metal pail she’d finally thought to buy and leave out on the landing and then unzipped her jacket and leaned herself against the wall. Directly against the kitchen and beneath the window then, she was certain she could hear everything down to Anders’s nervous footsteps, and she told herself to push down how nervous that made her in turn, taking a deep breath before lighting another cigarette as she would’ve done, anyway.

“So, uh, how was Orlais? That’s where you went, wasn’t it, Orlais?”

_“And her hallway moves like the ocean moves, and her hallway moves like the sea, like the sea…”_

She turned down the volume on her phone upon moving closer just to be safe, her best effort not to intrude on Anders’s much overdue moment, even if she had to admit to herself that she was also quite eager to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Of course, I should have expected that—I know, I’m surrounded by fellow Fereldans, even here…”

_“She says ‘no, no, no, no harm will come your way,’ she says ‘bring it down, bring on the wave,’ she says ‘nobody done no harm,’ grace of god and wave your arms, she says ‘face it and it’s a place to stay…’”_

“I know, Kirkwall is definitely not the greatest place, but I…I had some, umm, unfinished business to attend to and I just…I had to…I’m sorry, I had to…”

_“This, this is the way it was, this, this is the way it is, when the water come rushing, rushing in, she says, she says ‘anytime,’ raise your arms, flood…”_

“Do you think I don’t know that?” It sounded like Anders stopped in place for a few seconds when his voice raised, but then he sighed heavily and started moving again. “No, I _don’t_ expect your name to—I do understand that, believe me, I—no, I can’t just come ba—no, they fucking _need_ me here, you can’t even ima—I’m actually doing something that fucking matters instead of just taking up space for once in my fucking life and I will _not_ —no, it’s my risk to take, alright?”

_“Like a million voices call my name, like a million voices calling, not now, not ever again, sitting here now in this bar for hours, strange men rent strange flowers, seconds to the drop but it feels like hours…”_

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I—no, I am, I—please, please don’t think I don’t appreciate—I wouldn’t be here…not even here but _here_ …if it weren’t for you and I know that, I do, and I am grateful, but—I’d like that, really, but I can’t take that kind of time—no, it’s, uh, well, I do have a clinic…”

_“This, this is the way it was, this, this is the way it is when the water comes rushing, rushing in…”_

“Believe it or not, I’ve made a couple of friends who are in the fucking City Guard, so—oh no, no, one’s actually the fucking captain—yeah, I know…”

His tone lightened again and he was even going back to small moments of laughter, and Hawke was grateful. She wanted this to be good for him, she wanted so badly for him to be wrong about how it could go, but she supposed some tense moments after all that time was not necessarily foreboding, but it was actually more than likely if she’d truly stopped to think about it.

“Yeah, from my understanding they’re staying indefinitely right now—we have a mutual friend, yeah—oh, you know her, too? Oh okay, no, of course you’ve met, fucking Ferelden…”

_“She says, she says ‘anytime,’ raise your arms, flood…”_

“Ah yes, I should have assumed they’d have told you about that, too,” he chuckled softly, and she thought she could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Just about seven and a half months as of now—yeah, not to be too specific, of course—I, uh, yeah, it’s been—Elissa, I can’t even tell you, she is…she’s a fucking _miracle.”_

He lowered his volume just slightly as he went on, and she was grateful he couldn’t see her face, knowing full well how terribly ridiculous the wide grin she couldn’t hold back would have to appear.

“I never thought I could do this again…er, thought I could do this, and—no, umm, no—okay, fine, we can get into that later, I guess, but…”

_“I saw a saviour, a saviour come my way, I thought I’d see it in the cold light of day…”_

“She’s actually closer to your age,” he laughed once again. “I know, I’m fucking ancient at this point, Andraste’s knickers—I miss you, too, really, I do, but I told you, I—I don’t think they know, either, like I said, they’re just sort of here for the time being, it sounds like they didn’t really put any planning into it, so…”

_“If only I could see, you turn yourself to me and recognise the poison in my heart, there is no other place, no one else I face, the remedy, it will agree with how I feel…”_

“Maker’s balls, what the fuck do you mean you have some free time? I just assumed that would’ve been written into law by this point, ‘Commander Elissa Cousland, Fereldan Military, Grey Warden division, must always be working from now until the end of time, _totally_ illegal for her to _ever_ catch a break.’ Is that really not how it works? Because I’m honestly not sure I believe you…”

_“Here in my reflecting, what more can I say, for I am guilty for the voice that I obey, too scared to sacrifice a choice chosen for me…”_

His laughter that time permeated the whole area, washing over her in a soothing wave while she lit another cigarette. Pounce had made his way into the kitchen, as well, his sudden loud meowing nearly overtaking her ability to hear Anders.

_“If only I could see, you turn yourself to me and recognise the poison in my heart, there is no other place, no one else I face, the remedy, it will agree with how I feel…”_

“Oh shit,” Anders tone fell again, so drastically in a single second. “You saw that? Fuck, I know—I know, I—Elissa, I _know_ —I can’t do that, you know I can’t do that—I _am_ happy it went viral, actually, in fact I—I don’t even know how in the Void you recognised me, I certainly can’t imagine anyone else could have—yes, she knows—yes, she…oh, Maker, she _more_ than condones it, don’t even get me started on that one—hold on, how the fuck did you know about—I know you, but even with all the clearances in the whole of Thedas, I don’t see how that could possibly be traced back to me—Elissa, you have no idea what I’ve gone through to get here, or _since_ I’ve been here for that matter, I—Pounce, please, not now…”

_“And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack, and you may find yourself in another part of the world, and you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile, and you may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife, and you may ask yourself, ‘how did I get here?’ Letting the days go by…”_

“You…you what?” Anders stopped in his tracks again, at least if the noise from the other side of the wall was any indication. Pounce grew louder still, and Anders took a second to try to shush him, but that sounded to be an entirely vain endeavor.

_“And you may ask yourself, ‘how do I work this?’ And you may ask yourself…”_

“I, umm, I’m sorry, I should have—fuck, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t expect—no, you’re right, I never do…how the fuck do you still know so well after…fuck, am I _really_ that predictable? No, you know what, please don’t actually answer that…”

He seemed to calm down again, although he remained still as his voice lowered once more.

“Oh Maker, honestly,” he chuckled when he spoke next. “There’s a lot to tell, I don’t even know where to start…”

_“Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down, letting the days go by, water flowing underground, into the blue again after the money’s gone, once in a lifetime, water flowing underground…”_

“I don’t know, I just sort of stumbled my way into most of this shit, like I apparently do…you should know that better than anyone…I am, actually, at least for me, it’s, umm, it’s been an interesting ride, I guess…I have a lot here, honestly, far more than I bargained for, I—thank you, I—yeah, we really should, let me know if you do—you’ve always been a good friend, Elissa, better than I deserve…”

_“Same as it ever was, same as it ever was…”_

“Believe me, she tells me the same thing…oh for fuck’s sake—sorry, hold on a second…”

She looked up towards the window when she thought she heard him coming towards it, and he looked vaguely frazzled when he looked down at her from it, holding his phone awkwardly with his hand over the receiver.

“Love, whenever you’re done, can you try to do something with this fucking child of ours?”

She shook her head with a smile, already anticipating his having to explain he was still talking about the cat, and then quickly corrected the gesture into a nod.

“Hey now, he was your son first,” she laughed. “Of course I can, love, just give me a minute.”

_“Under the water, carry the water…”_

“Thanks, love,” he uttered softly before readjusting himself to his call again. “No, no, I was referring to Pounce—I know, yeah…”

She was nearly giggling when she heard that, despite how much she had expected it, and it was only another hit before she finished her cigarette and stuffed her phone into her pocket to go back inside.

_“Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down, letting the days go by, water flowing underground, into the blue again in the silent water, under the rocks and stones, there is water underground…”_

Pounce started rubbing himself against her legs almost as soon as her feet touched the floor, and Anders wandered aimlessly into the main room, presumably just to give her space to move.

Anders must have been much too deeply focused considering that she spotted the empty food bowl immediately. Pounce happily trotted over to it once it was filled, and Hawke automatically sat down on the floor beside him even though the problem had been solved.

_“And you may ask yourself, ‘what is that beautiful house?’ And you may ask yourself, ‘where does that highway go to?’ And you may ask yourself, ‘am I right, am I wrong?’ And you may say to yourself, ‘my god, what have I done?’ Letting the days go by…”_

“No, that would…that would be nice…” Anders’s voice was more distant than it had been, perhaps coming from the hallway behind the couch by that point. “I can talk to—oh, are you sure about—alright, I mean, whatever would be easiest—yeah, yeah, just let me know if you—oh, alright…”

She could hear that he was coming closer, and then his footsteps quickly faded away again, but then they returned almost as promptly, indicating that his pacing had resumed its previous vigor.

_“Into the blue again once the money’s gone, once in a lifetime, water flowing underground…”_

Evidently satisfied that the humans still existed to feed him at all, Pounce only briefly sniffed around the area of his dishes and then moved over to Hawke directly, not quite into her lap but near enough that she instinctively reached over to start petting him, and he immediately curled up where he was and began to purr.

“Uh-huh…okay…yeah, alright…I know…”

She couldn’t tell if he was becoming more or less distressed as it went on, and Pounce had his own reactions to the scene, popping his head up to look around in what almost appeared to be concern, although he still managed to stay still enough to absorb all of Hawke’s attention, and she gave it fully in her personal effort not to worry too much or give into temptation to check on Anders and potentially interfere, allowing the soothing nature of Pounce’s purrs and the comfort she found in the softness of his fur to distract her.

_“Time isn’t holding up, time isn’t after us, same as it ever was, same as it ever was…”_

“Love?”

She looked up at the sound of Anders’s voice, at that beautiful little inflection of complete adoration that accompanied the word every single time he said it, that was never lost or lessened no matter how many times he’d said it before.

His eyes were every bit as warm as his endearment, as well as the soft smile that went along with the way he looked on at her and Pounce.

She thought to pick up her phone from her pocket to turn the music off, and upon doing so she instantly stood up and walked over to take him into her arms.

“You alright, love?” She whispered against his neck, pulling him closer and resting her head firmly at the joint of his shoulder.

“You didn’t need to abandon the baby, love,” he laughed, and she couldn’t help but follow. “I think so, though. It was just…strange, I guess, to talk to her again.”

Hawke stepped back and made for both Anders’s hands, holding them in each of her own and looking him right in the eyes while Pounce started walking back and forth between them trying to reclaim their attention.

“Well, umm, how’d it go?” She smiled at him gently, oddly at ease, concrete in her belief that it had to have gone better than he had feared, that no one who had once done so much for him and knew him so well could ever possibly give up on him regardless of how much time might pass or how greatly circumstance might change.

“It went okay, I think,” he answered quietly. “She saw the rally online, which I’m sure you figured out…I don’t know how the fuck she spotted me, but I guess there’s a reason they made her Commander of the Grey. I suppose she’s a lot like Aveline in that regard, actually. She’s worried about it…about _me,_ but she’s proud, too, you were right about that. She just doesn’t want to see me get hurt after everything she did to keep me safe in Amaranthine, and I know it isn’t even _really_ about her or any of that, but…”

His eyes wandered towards the floor at the lack of a finish to his thought, and Hawke only squeezed his hands in response.

“I knew she’d be proud of you, love,” she smiled, and he returned it when he looked up at her again.

“Thanks,” he said shyly before releasing her hands to pull her back into his arms. “She, umm, actually wants to visit. As soon as she can swing it since Zevran’s already here, too. So, she _also_ said not to tell them.”

He chuckled a little as he spoke those last words, and she lightly kissed whatever spot between his shoulder and neck it happened to me that her lips landed.

“Should I be nervo— _fucking cat!”_

She laughed as Pounce tried to wiggle into the negligible space between them, causing her legs to automatically try to adjust themselves and then for her to stumble slightly at the uncoordinated effort.

“No, love,” Anders said gently as they both seemed to decided to head to the couch at the same time. “I can’t imagine you’d possibly have anything to be nervous about. I mean, she saved me once, and now _you_ …well…”

“I should get her a fruit basket or something for that much, at least,” Hawke teased, and then she curled into Anders completely, bringing herself as close to him as she possibly could. “Because, you know, same about that last bit.”

That got a sincere laugh out of him, and he stretched out an arm to wrap it around her. She felt him shift around a little, not bothering to look up but preferring to let his warmth consume her in the hope that she might somehow offer it back to him in the same gesture, even when he sighed just before he stopped moving.

“It’s later than I thought it was,” he explained before she could ask. “I probably shouldn’t have taken so much time before calling…”

“It’s alright, love,” she exhaled, content to stay exactly where they were and to burrow further into him if only it were possible. “We can be late, no one will mind.”

“Yeah, that works for a Saturday, but…” He laughed awkwardly, and she wondered if he was questioning whether or not he even wanted to go, just as she was. “If we leave _soon,_ it won’t be too big a deal, though, if you—”

“Nah,” she interrupted without thinking. “Fuck it, we’ll see everyone next time. That’s a nice perk of the whole _twice weekly_ thing, I guess, right?”

“A valid point, indeed,” he mused, and she made a wordless noise of protest when he tapped on her shoulder to try to prompt her to move. “Come on, love, if we’re staying in tonight, that means I am officially done wearing real clothes for the day.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” she agreed and slowly began to readjust herself so she could at least attempt to get up comfortably. “I guess I should probably text Isabela to let her know we’re skipping tonight, too, huh?”

“Yeah, that’d be the courteous thing to do, at least,” he noted with a smirk before they both managed to pry themselves off of the couch, and his phone went off in almost that exact same moment. “Maker’s balls, what now…”

Hawke couldn’t decipher the face Anders made when he looked at the screen, the way his brow furrowed and his lips curled in a way that made him appear concerned, or perhaps annoyed, or maybe even simply that focused on it.

“Love?”

“I should probably answer this,” he remarked, his voice sounding much lighter than his expression would have indicated. “It’s Selby…she probably has news of some sort…”

“Then yes, you absolutely _should_ take it, love,” Hawke replied quickly with a reassuring smile. “Hurry, before you miss it!”

She offered a try at a wink along with her urging, and he chuckled and shook his head for just a second before he answered the call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Hawke decided to take that opportunity to head to the bedroom to change for the night, as well as to make use of her own phone to let Isabela know they’d just see her Saturday.

“Hello!” Hawke laughed at Pounce when she crossed through the hall and he ran in ahead of her. “So needy today, aren’t you?”

She picked up the articles of clothing she wanted from the floor and then sat down on the bed to tend to her other task, and then tossed her phone aside as soon as she’d sent her very short, generic message about staying in that evening.

She finished changing and walked back out into the main room, again followed by Pounce, and she nearly bumped into Anders at the end of the hall as he started on his way towards the opposite direction.

“Done already?” She asked him with a short laugh after taking a step back, while Pounce ran away from them.

“Yep,” he nodded. “Just a quick update, nothing that really warrants lengthy discussion. There’s no date yet but everyone’s moving as fast as possible, so we’re probably looking at some time next month. They’re organising people who will be there specifically to film for the internet, and they need me to put together some materials, do my part in disseminating the call to action.”

“Oh, is that _all?”_ She grinned at him with that same awe she’d felt over the subject ever since he’d first revealed the extent of his involvement with the Underground, with that same level of reverence she had since held over such bravery and conviction. “Good, love, I’m glad things are moving.”

“I know you are, love,” he smiled, and his eyes crinkled with it, lighting up his whole face the way it only ever seemed to do when he looked like that at her. “This should be an interesting one…I mean, we’ve never really _planned_ to make people look at us quite like this before. Forcing anyone outside the cause to actually give a damn has always been the _hope,_ of course, but until now it had been a pretty fucking fleeting one.”

There was a tinge of understandable bitterness to the chuckle he followed with, and the thought that he’d fought through that knowledge for however long was even more admirable to her somehow, as if such a thing was even possible by then.

“Well then, let’s give ‘em the Void, love,” she laughed softly, already unspeakably eager to scream through the streets again, to battle through the crowds of whatever might lie within it, to have certainty that time that eyes were on them and the average Thedosian might just learn to care yet, and despite all of Anders’s obvious concerns, she couldn’t have cared less about how many scars she had to acquire to meet that end.

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, and before she had a chance to say anything else, it felt like he must have read her mind when he added, “Although I do hope we manage to stay a bit further away from it, ourselves, this time around.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, trying to come off as playful despite how frustrating she found the idea of prioritising her personal well-being over the importance of what they were risking themselves for to begin with. Were the roles reversed, she would be every bit as wary for him as he was for her, she had to at least acknowledge that much, but she also knew it wouldn’t stop him any more than it was going to stop her, and she knew he knew that, and that he respected it as much as his fears could let him.

“Maker,” he sighed, and she didn’t realise he was reaching for her until her whole body moved forward and her head was brought against his chest, and she melted into him immediately. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“As much as I love you, yeah,” she smiled to herself as he ran his fingers through her hair, and she wrapped her arms around him. “Which is, for the record, a _fuckton.”_

They both laughed easily, and she felt him nod before he kissed the top of her head, before he brought himself to speak again.

“Exactly,” he whispered delicately, that one word accompanied by his touch to imply so many more, so many thoughts and feelings she wasn’t sure there were even words for, and she understood them all with absolute clarity.

“You should go get comfortable, love,” she remarked after a long moment, not exactly willing to let him go, but happy to get moving along to the cuddling-on-the-couch-with-the-television-on portion of the evening.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied quietly, and he broke away from her just enough to trail his hand down her cheek, to tilt her chin upwards and kiss her softly again and again, and then to finally smile at her, so wide and so warm, before backing away enough to follow through.

She sat down on the couch and checked her phone to see if Isabela had responded, which she had. It was a short text, making sure to tease them for not being any fun, but with a nice “see you Saturday” and an emoticon wink tacked onto the end. After reading she simply closed out of it and set her phone down on the coffee table, leaning backwards and propping up her feet over it as well, and for just a second she closed her eyes as she began to think of ideas for what to watch, but she opened them and sat back up with a start when she caught the sound of Anders crying.

She stood up and walked slowly back towards the bedroom, peeking in through the threshold of the open door to see his head buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking as he visibly tried to contain himself.

“Love?” She whispered carefully, and he looked up at her with blatant reluctance, as obvious as the apologies which automatically began to form on his lips. “Hey, no, love…what is it?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he answered as clearly as he was able, with harshly forced exaggerated enunciations and long breaths between words. “I…fuck, I don’t know, I just feel so…so _overwhelmed_ all of a sudden, I don’t…fuck, love, I’m sor—”

“Nope,” she cut him off and sat down beside him, taking his cheeks into her hands so similarly to how he had just done for me, and she brought him to look at her. “It’s alright, love, you’re alright, it’s okay, I understand…”

She spoke her affirmations quickly, pushing as much as she could through one breath, a stark contrast to his struggles to form words in between them.

“I know, love, thank you,” he managed with slightly less difficulty than before. “Worlds colliding, maybe? Shit, who even knows with me half the time, honestly, fuck…”

“Hey now,” she said gently, kissing him quickly before continuing. “Me too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, I know…if there’s anyone who gets it, I…I’m so glad you’re here, love…”

“Me, too,” she repeated softly. “Me too, love. And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, alright? I fucking _promise.”_

She suddenly felt unbearably protective of him, pulling their whole selves together and gripping him so tight, holding him so close, with such a ferocity to it that was strange even for her, and she felt it swiftly returned, his arms reaching around her and holding on for dear life just as strongly as she.

“Do you believe me, love?” She whispered after a few seconds’ silence.

“You know I do,” he muttered so quietly she barely caught it even though they were so close to one another. “If I believe in _anything,_ I believe in that.”

“Good,” she remarked affectionately, and then as one they slipped downward onto the bed, their tangled limbs only entwining more as they both laid down and seemed to absorb into each other. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

The thought that she had no right to ever try to take issue with how desperately he wanted to safeguard her solidified in her mind, but she brushed it away, vehemently refusing to allow any room inside her head for anything but him in this moment, leaving her only to envelop him, to feel him ease into her, to trace her hands over every inch of him she could reach before she moved to trail her lips along him in the same manner. For as much as it would always hurt to see him like this, the familiarity of the situation was oddly comforting, almost as much as just knowing she was there, and that he would never go through anything like this alone ever again, at least as long as she could avoid it. And that truly was, then and there, just as she had said, all that fucking mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long...again. Not gonna lie, I actually stopped writing completely for a few days before _and_ after the US election results and while I am still very not okay and absolutely will not be okay at any point in the near future, I have at least gotten back to this. I also went to my first protest since the fucking Bush administration between the last chapter and this one, so who knows, maybe I can even use this mess, lul.


	65. Forward Through Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: nightmares, talk of Bethany, referenced emotional abuse and subsequent guilt/self-hatred
> 
> ["Here and Now" by Letters to Cleo](https://youtu.be/JO5xHqGOajs)   
>  ["Diamond in the Witch House" by Mastodon](https://youtu.be/J_hhy_3LJlY)   
>  ["All My Stars Aligned" by St. Vincent](https://youtu.be/0mk9_Ndly2I)   
>  ["Street Spirit (Fade Out)" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/LCJblaUkkfc)

It had been a long time since Hawke had last dreamt of Bethany.

Yet she woke up Saturday morning with a shaky breath of panic after reaching for her sister, whose smiling face and warm, comforting laughter had felt so real before withering into nothing, abruptly cut off by the sound of her mother’s voice. Cut off by the sound of that question she would never be able to let go of, would never be able to escape, no matter how sincere her mother’s apologies might have been. That was when the entire scene collapsed, caved into itself before it burst, fractured images fraught with emotion crashing all around her until she was startled into waking.

She sat straight upright by no choice of her own, and her knees mechanically rose towards her chest for her hanging head to meet, contorting strangely and painfully to the tune of loudly cracking joints and Anders’s sleepy hum as he stirred beside her.

“Love?” His voice was hoarse from his state of barely yet waking up, a state she couldn’t help but envy, even as she let out a reluctantly dreamy sigh when his nose nuzzled against her hip.

“Good morning…or something…” She breathed out heavily, and that got Anders up with her quickly enough, for as much as she had wanted to lie back down with him, which was every bit as much as she knew she wouldn’t have been able to, anyway.

“Love?” He repeated, and he followed her lead when she leaned back into the cold window behind them, careful not to disturb the thin curtains over it too much. She heard the slight patting of what must have been a light rain hitting it, and it was almost enough to make her laugh.

“Sorry, I,” she started, but then she shook her head at herself, deciding against her instinct, knowing how she would—and, in fact, always did—respond to his apologies were the roles reversed. That left her without further words, however, only another long sigh that carried a quiet, “Ah, fuck.”

“It’s alright, love,” he offered softly, and he tentatively moved a hand along her thigh, taking a moment and then running it back and forth when she did not recoil.

“Fuck, she would have loved you.”

She couldn’t remember if she’d ever said that out loud, for as many times as the thought had crossed her mind, and her hand nearest him absent-mindedly caught his, lacing their fingers together so naturally.

Her mind wandered, allowing for a flash of self-hatred for how well she’d been doing since losing her sister, another element of damage too permanent for any amount of her mother’s remorse to ever possibly begin to rectify. Fortunately, Anders’s voice brought her back easily enough before she could chase it too far, despite how much a part of her wanted to, despite how much that part of her didn’t believe she deserved not to have to.

“Who’s that, love?”

His tone was as soothing as his touch, ever the healer in all things, his very essence a panacea for everything that was broken inside her. So many things that couldn’t be fixed, would never truly be better, but could at least be patched over and stitched together over and over again so that sometimes she could nearly forget the wounds had ever been there until they opened again.

She tried to remind herself of how happy her sister would have been to know she’d found that, tried desperately to use that to push away the sins of her mother which willed her to want to hate it.

“Bethany,” she answered uneasily before promptly reverting to deflection. “Oh well, it _has_ been a while since _I_ got to be the one waking up to thoughts of lost loved ones, so you know, my turn’s been _way_ overdue…”

“Love…”

She rubbed her eyes with her free hand before picking up her phone from the nightstand, grateful when she saw it was almost 10:00am, that even for as physically and emotionally exhausted she was from those dreams, at least she hadn’t been forced awake in the middle of the night or the very edge of dawn as they both so often were after such disturbances. She still longed to lie back down and find herself some real rest, and she shifted herself around enough to accomplish the former despite the latter being too blatantly futile to attempt. She tried to take comfort in Anders moving with her, wrapping himself around her and holding her close once they’d repositioned.

“Love,” Anders repeated, grounding her to him with each soft caress of his fingertips, his lips ghosting through her hair as she settled into his chest. “Talk to me…”

“I’m losing her, Anders,” she whimpered pathetically, instinctively biting down hard on her lip to hold back a sob that wasn’t coming and she knew it. There was an ache within her, a dull sensation rapidly being swept into a hollow sort of numb she hadn’t felt in some time, and for as much as she hated it then, it felt so right. “I’m moving too quickly, and that’s got me leaving her behind.”

“You’re allowed to move forward, Trista,” he whispered, remarkably firm for as quiet as he was. “You’re allowed to—you’re allowed, love…”

“It’s sort of funny,” she mused in a monotone. “I waited so fucking long for my mother to take responsibility for her mistakes, but when she finally did…I suppose I just always believed it would actually _change something_ if that day ever came, but…”

“You’re allowed that, too, love,” Anders assured gently. “I love your family, I do, but being sorry doesn’t make what you’re sorry for hurt any less. Your mother put so much on you, love, far more than anyone should have to bear; _of course_ you’re still going to feel that. It’s okay.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, but then another thought occurred to her that caused her to sulk even further down. “Fuck, though, I know how much _I—”_

“No, no, no, no, no, love,” Anders cut in instantly, evidently knowing exactly where she was going, as she should have known he would. “Don’t worry about anything like that right now, love. Besides, it’s different.”

“How?”

She shook her head and a part of her wanted to break away, but he only held her closer, and she forced herself to stay still, to breathe him in and try to let herself have this comfort.

“You know I know what it is to be moved to action by forces beyond your control, love,” he answered delicately, enunciating each word with care, referencing his own experience so she could use him as an anchor, a means by which to offer her room for forgiveness. “I’m not saying those actions can’t hurt, too, of course, but I know they’re not malicious in intent. And I’m just not necessarily sure if you can say the same for…well, other examples…”

She nodded against him, internally keeping herself boxed into her corner of self-hatred and doubt, although she simultaneously tried her best to be appreciative of the path towards acceptance he was working so hard to clear for her.

“I’m still sorry, love,” she mumbled without meaning to. “Fuck, I’m so…I’ve put you through so much already, love…”

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothed. “It’s alright, love, I promise. I know I’ve done my share, too.”

“Don’t you ever worry, though?” She asked meekly. “I mean, about what happens if it gets to be too much?”

“No,” he replied without a single second of hesitation. “Do you?”

“No,” she admitted with similar haste. “No, love, you know…I actually really don’t.”

She managed a smile at their confirmations, followed by a deep breath and a soft hum of exhalation, more than ready to get off the strange rollercoaster of emotions the morning had brought them thus far.

“This is no way to start off your birthday, you know,” Anders chuckled after a moment, and Hawke could only groan at the realisation that she had completely forgotten about it.

“Oh, fuck me,” she whined in a playful tone, even if she was still somewhat chastising herself.

“Let me wake up a bit more first, love,” Anders teased, and that got her to laugh in earnest, and his relief at the sound was obvious. “That’s more like it.”

He sounded light at those last words, his voice as much a medication for her mind as it ever was, a quick suture for the wounds her dreams had worn open.

They started to move away from each other as one, silently agreeing it was time to get up.

“Love?” She turned to him once they were both standing, before either of them made it to the door. “I assume that whatever tonight’s plans entail, we’ll be going to the Hanged Man, yes?”

“Maybe,” he looked back with a smirk. “Why do you ask?”

“Could you, umm…could you do something Radiohead tonight, love?” It was a simple enough request, certainly not one that should make her feel so awkward to suggest. “I just think that might…I think that might be good for…whatever this is.”

“Are you sure?” He eyed her questioningly, which made sense enough, yet she found herself softly chewing on her bottom lip along with her nod, which Anders was fortunately prompt in responding to. “Of course, love. You know that if you ever need anything, as long as it’s in my power to do it, I will.”

“I know, love,” she smiled as best she could, even for as much as she meant it. “I know.”

“Of course, that _is_ suggesting we’re actually going to the Hanged Man tonight,” he went back to joking. “Which is, you know, obviously, _totally_ up in the air…”

“Of course it is, love,” she chuckled, and that was when they both moved on to the kitchen as fast as they possibly could to put coffee on.

***

Just as predicted, Hawke and Anders arrived at the Hanged Man roughly a half hour before their usual time, where everyone she could possibly expect to be there for such an event was already seated at their usual table.

_“Just living on a Sunday morning, got my toast and my tea and I’m warm and I just thought I’d think about all the things to get and keep getting…”_

“No way, we’re celebrating here?” Hawke laughed as they sat down. “I’d never have guessed. And Anders had me so convinced we’d be doing something different; didn’t you, love?”

“In my defense, I didn’t actually try that hard,” he laughed with her, and Varric rolled his eyes at them with a chuckle. “Oh come on, like she really wasn’t going to figure that out.”

_“The comfort of a knowledge of a rise above the sky could never parallel the challenge of an acquisition in the here and now…”_

“Oh Maker,” Hawke laughed again when she caught the song playing. “Please, please, _please_ tell me this is Donnic’s choice.”

“It is, actually, yeah,” Donnic smiled awkwardly. “Dare I ask why?”

“No reason,” Hawke smirked. “Just…I feel like you should watch Parks and Rec if you ever get the chance. Something tells me you’d like it.”

Anders was laughing unreasonably hard at that, which was fair given how many times they had joked about Aveline and Donnic being so similar to the characters of Leslie and Ben, respectively.

“No one else, really?” He asked through his laughter when nobody appeared to have anything to add, to which Fenris only shook his head.

“Oh no, for sure,” he replied. “I just can’t believe these nerds don’t already get the reference.”

“I hate you,” Aveline grinned back at them. “The lot of you, honestly.”

_“Parody of yourself in colour, giving it to everybody but your mother, you’ve got so much to think about, soaring higher with every treason, never justify, never reason…”_

“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone on their birthday,” Hawke pouted playfully.

“Well,” Aveline laughed, as well. “I guess it’s a good thing you know damn well I’m kidding.”

“I can drink to that,” Hawke noted cheerfully before turning to glance around the room. “So, alright then, where’s Norah?”

“She’s, umm, on her way,” Carver started, but was quickly cut off by Varric.

“She’s just picking up a few things for you, Hawke, and I gave her the night off so she can be part of the group this evening, special occasion and all,” he explained. “And I _think_ she and your dear brother are planning to surprise us by announcing their relationship when she gets here.”

“She told you?” Carver asked as soon as Varric was done speaking, and the affronted look on his face was absolutely priceless.

“Oh, Junior,” Varric snickered. “You sweet summer child…”

“She didn’t have to, sweet thing,” Isabela added. “Like everyone and their mother couldn’t tell on their own that you two have been fucking.”

_“Wide is the line, separates the river from the dirt, all the while I wonder who’s the one within the one and only eye…”_

“Sorry to deprive you of the big reveal, kid,” Varric followed. “But yeah, what Rivaini said.”

“Oh, Carver,” Merrill chimed in enthusiastically, and it seemed she was genuinely only learning of the development just then. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Ah, how lovely,” Zevran laughed. “It is in the air around here, it seems. I did not know a place so miserable as this could hold such pleasures.”

“Oh, Zev,” Isabela sighed, looking directly at them for that moment before she turned to address the rest of the group. “They have this whole big fucking _hopeless romantic_ thing going on which, you know, now that I think about it, isn’t _quite_ as annoying as it used to be…I wonder why that is…”

“I love you, too,” Merrill smiled in response to Isabela’s obvious tease, and Isabela shifted herself again to give Merrill a small, brief kiss.

“Alright, drinks,” Varric chuckled. “I’ll go grab us some pitchers.”

“Ooh, pitchers!” Hawke exclaimed. “We really are going all out, aren’t we?”

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” Varric replied with pure snark in his voice, even if she knew well that the words were sincere, and then got up to fulfill the task he had given himself.

_“Can you see there’s a child standing idle by us in this mess, who am I to cause this emptiness, willing the sea to cleanse my soul of all that I’ve been, to bring me free to this clarity, clarity…”_

“Aveline,” Fenris spoke up after the short paused following Varric’s departure. “Is this your doing?”

He gestured vaguely around, yet somehow everyone seemed to clearly understand that he was referencing the music playing.

“Yeah, why?” She cocked her head at him with a smirk, which he returned.

“Just because this song is like eight years long,” he chuckled, and her smirk only managed to intensify.

“They do have longer, you know,” she said smugly. “Next time I’ll have to put on ‘the Czar’ just to make things _really_ fun.”

“Yes, because nothing says _fun_ like a ten-plus minute long song so intense it has a fucking four-act structure to it, and from possibly _the_ most depressing concept album ever recorded,” Hawke laughed. “Actually, now that you mention it, I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“Okay, but Donnic, serious question,” Anders moved on. “What, exactly, is your official stance on miniature horses?”

Donnic shook his head, clearly aware of the fact that he was missing another joke, but he tried to answer, anyway. “Umm, I don’t know that I ha—”

“Oh, leave the poor sod alone,” Fenris interrupted with a wide grin, and Hawke couldn’t help but think about how nice it was that the more time went on, the more she saw him properly smile. “Donnic, Aveline, just watch the fucking show. How in the Void have you not already? It _is_ on Netflix, so no excuses.”

“To be fair, Hawke never really suggested or even really watched anything so… _light_ before,” Aveline shrugged. “So you know, I’m fairly accustomed to dedicating my free time for entertainment to the sad and weird.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawke huffed just before she lit a cigarette, immediately betrayed by her own laughter.

_“I’m standing deep in these waters bleeding free and bent to drag us into the new visions, only loss fills my void…”_

“Is this what getting old looks like on you, Trista?” Carver poked at her, but he offered her a soft, caring smile at the same time. “Getting soft in your age?”

“Yeah, fuck you, Carver,” Anders joked in return. “No one here gets to say shit about old. Maker…”

“It’s okay, we still love you, dad,” Isabela chuckled.

“Nope, not going there,” Anders laughed as he hung his head, which perked back up in a second when Varric returned and set two large pitchers down on the table.

“We got cider on tap just in time to fill all these,” he smirked as he sat back down. “Corff’s grabbing a couple more for us, too. So, you know, you’re welcome, Hawke.”

“Okay, make room,” Norah called out from nearby, and the pitchers they already had, along with the few ashtrays scattered around the table, were shifted around amongst them to leave enough space at the centre, which was then occupied by a very large cake upon Norah’s direct arrival.

There was quite a hustle among the group to collect and rearrange themselves, and everyone worked to pull surrounding tables closer at the instant realisation that there was simply no longer adequate room on the one alone. Isabela took the opportunity to walk away so that she could pick up and lay out books for when karaoke started, which would not be much longer. Drinks and all were redistributed along their altered setup, and Corff was obviously grateful for it when he appeared with more and set them down on the smaller table that had made its way just behind Hawke.

Norah seated herself in between another newly claimed table and Carver, and she looked unsure of how close to him she should actually be moving herself just yet.

“So,” she started, but Varric and Isabela, who had just returned, both burst into obscenely loud laughter before she could go any further.

“Maker’s balls, I should have guessed you fucks would figure it out on your own,” Norah sighed with her own hint of laughter. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Storyteller,” Varric said firmly. “I’d be a pretty shit one if I couldn’t pick up on the stories already taking place around me, don’t you think?”

“Are we suggesting you’re _not_ a shit one, anyway?” Fenris mocked, to which Varric only flashed his middle fingers before occupying his hands with his cigarettes.

“Anyway,” Isabela interjected and handed a short stack of slips to Merrill. “Take one down and pass ‘em around, Kitten.”

“I do think it’s lovely, though,” Merrill added to Carver and Norah. “Are you happy?”

“So far, so good,” Norah smiled, and Hawke decided for sure that they really were a good match.

“Most pleased to hear it, friends!” Zevran almost shouted, their expression matching Merrill’s.

“Rivaini, I think you have a type,” Varric teased looking between them, and Isabela responded with an elbow to his side.

“Well, fuck you, too,” he scowled, but his tone portrayed nothing short of genuine amusement.

“Welp, I should probably get on with getting on,” Isabela stated through a soft laugh. “Anyone ready for me?”

“For fuck’s sake, give them a moment,” Fenris jokingly retorted, which allowed for Hawke, Anders, and Zevran to write down what they could come up with without looking.

Isabela took slips from those who had them ready, and then promptly ran up to the booth to get started. It was a few minutes from there that she gave out her usual introductions and the corresponding music blared, while most everyone who’d be participating either moved onto or continued looking through the songbooks and mentally compiling and prioritising their personal lists.

Unsurprisingly, given what day it was, Hawke was the first to go up, and Merrill’s endearing exclamation of “I love this song” was loud enough to carry throughout the tavern when it began.

_“I read the signs, I got all my stars aligned, my amulets, my charms, I set all my false alarms so I’ll be someone who won’t forgotten, I’ve got a question and you’ve got the answer…”_

Her choice was at least somewhat inspired by the morning she’d had, although far more subtly than it could have been. She had originally learned of St. Vincent’s music through Bethany, even if she ended up liking it more than her sister did.

_“I do a dance to make the rain come, smile to keep the sky from falling down, down, down, down, collect the love that I’ve been given, build a nest for us to sleep in here, you know it’s real…”_

Even lyrically, the choice seemed so right to her somehow, for the mood she was in, for the memories she didn’t actually want to push aside despite the occasion. She could have both. She could make peace with that.

_“I check my palms, the cracks in the sidewalks, my visions and my dreams, I cross all my fingers that you’ll be someone who won’t be forgotten, what was your question, I’ve got the answer…”_

That verse hurt more than she expected, a strange twist in her chest that thankfully didn’t last, for as strange a feeling as that was, too.

She looked away from the screen as she repeated the chorus, just for a moment, just to catch a glance of the family she had with her, and it helped.

_“There are no signs, there are no stars aligned, no amulets, not a charm to bring you back to my arms, there’s just this human heart that’s built with this human flaw, what was your question, love is the answer…”_

She wondered if Carver might even pick up on who she was thinking of, on what she was feeling. She was almost certain Anders would.

There was an oddly familiar flash of emotions fleeting as she finished with the final repeat of the chorus, with how she was hardly aware of doing so, but everything seemed to level itself when she sat back down at the table. Anders pretty much confirmed her suspicions in the way he held her, all too quickly but so very firm, just before his name was called and he went to take over by the booth.

_“Rows of houses all bearing down on me, I can feel their blue hands touching me, all these things into position, all these things we’ll one day swallow whole and fade out again…”_

She couldn’t place precisely why, but it was the perfect choice of song.

“Hawke,” Varric spoke up as she watched Anders wistfully. She tried not to think about what kind of face she was making. She figured the heart eyes were probably excruciating to watch. “Is, umm, _this_ okay, or you know, does Blondie need to be reminded of a thing or two?”

_“This machine will, will not communicate these thoughts and the strain I am under, be a world child, form a circle, before we all go under and fade out again…”_

“No, I actually requested this,” she replied without inflection. She found herself even more taken by him than usual, carefully watching his face change with every note, consumed by how perfectly he sang them, entranced by how very beautiful he was to her.

_“Fade out again…”_

“He really does nail it, I have to admit,” Carver noted, a tinge of uncharacteristic melancholy in his voice that made it a safe assumption he also felt the reason behind Varric’s initial concern.

“That, he does,” she practically sighed, surprised when Carver felt the need to comment again.

“Well done, yeah.”

For as small and simple a remark as it was, that he’d made it all said more than words possibly could in that moment.

_“Cracked eggs, dead birds scream as they fight for life, I can feel death, can see its beady eyes, all these things into position, all these things we’ll one day swallow whole, fade out again…”_

“I swear,” she mused quietly before she even realised she was speaking. “I am going to marry that man someday.”

She could have sworn the eyes rolling around her were audible, for as quiet as the couple of stifled giggles were, at least. She didn’t care. She was at peace with it.

_“Fade out again…”_

“Well, you know, my friend,” Zevran chimed in cheerfully. “If you feel so inclined to ever ask permission for his hand, it would seem that the person you would want to talk to has _impossibly_ excellent timing.”

“Wait, what?” That got her attention, and her gaze broke from Anders to catch Zevran beaming as they looked towards the door, where her eyes went next, and she saw the woman who must have just walked in, and it was when she also burst into an excited smile to wave at Zevran that it clicked for Hawke.

_“Immerse your soul in love…”_

“Oh shit, is that…?”

Zevran, however, was too distracted by the new arrival to answer, instead getting up and enthusiastically rushing to the door to greet her.

“Well, I _think_ things just got interesting,” Hawke laughed nervously to herself. She believed Anders that she didn’t actually have anything to worry about, for as much as that did not in any way work to subdue such worry, but she imagined her thought was entirely true all the same.

There seemed no way around it with the infamous Elissa Cousland walking towards them. This was a woman born into rich esteem as a child of beloved politicians, the woman whose own life of service had led to her becoming commonly heralded as the “Hero of Ferelden” after the war ended, and the woman who—most importantly as far as Hawke was concerned—made it possible for Anders to get to where he was and had worked so hard to ensure he ever could.

She shifted her eyes awkwardly back to Anders, aware of the fact that he would be back to join them in just a few moments, and she took a deep breath in anticipation for whatever was about to unfold.

_“Immerse your soul in soul in love…”_

At the very least, things certainly had just gotten interesting, of that she had no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was [explicitly told](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com/post/153879684933/therealmnemo-replied-to-your-post-is-it-possible) while I was writing this chapter that there is no such thing as too many Parks and Rec references so... :p
> 
> (And I mean, come _on,_ it's just too damn perfect for these nerds. Sorry not sorry.)
> 
> Also, as I already squealed a little bit about on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), I think I am legit starting to have real plans for this fic's future again and I am very excited about where all this might lead us. :)


	66. Well, That Wasn't Quite What We Expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some anxiety and passing references to Kinloch, murder, a very vague implication of alcoholism, as well as mentions of Karl and Malcolm
> 
> Basically, though, this is mostly just friendly banter. Not gonna lie, this is one of my personal favourite chapters yet. :)
> 
> ["Before I'm Dead" by Kidneythieves](https://youtu.be/7rclL_8Jf7w)   
>  ["World in My Eyes" by Depeche Mode](https://youtu.be/kJQ9KoxS40g)   
>  ["Red Stars" by the Birthday Massacre](https://youtu.be/dZhjVsR9EqI)   
>  ["Girlfriend Is Better" by Talking Heads](https://youtu.be/-7kL1j_3C0o)

Hawke watched as Zevran caught Elissa on her way to the table, watched them take an extended moment to greet each other, both of them smiling, and that led her to be taken by surprise when Anders sat back down beside her.

“Well, shit,” he whispered as he moved in closer than usual, and she automatically pushed herself towards him, as well, in an effort to leave as little space between them as possible.

“Did you know—”

“No, love.”

“How the fuck did she know to come here, then?”

“Fuck, I don’t—okay, I mean, I mentioned that we do this…but I really only said that this is a _thing,_ so…”

Isabela had put on some EDM placeholder once Anders stepped off the microphone, probably intending for Zevran to go next but also just sort of attempting to allow the mood of the entire tavern to adjust. There were obvious whispers coming from all ends in response to the new presence, to be expected considering how recognisable she was. It was an odd level of fame for a soldier, but it was what it was and heads were turning all the same.

“She’s basically a real-life Commander Shepard,” Donnic whispered in what sounded like awe.

“Commander who?” Merrill’s eyes darted around the room, watching everyone watching everyone else, and she looked to be searching for her own reaction.

Hawke herself looked up and around, not for the first time in what could only have been a few minutes since Elissa’s arrival. Zevran’s eyes were wandering, too, but theirs only between Elissa and the table. Anders was, thankfully, deliberately focusing his gaze on Hawke, so he didn’t notice when Zevran pointed at him with an intense enthusiasm.

Except that it only took Hawke another second to realise they weren’t actually pointing at Anders, but that they were fixating directly on her.

“No one,” Aveline laughed as quietly as humanly possible in response to Merrill, bringing Hawke’s attention back to her friends. “It’s from a video game.”

“Oh shit, here she comes,” Anders said with widening eyes once Zevran began to lead Elissa their way, their movement towards them instantly impossible to ignore. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

“You’re alright, love,” Hawke told him repeatedly, her words overlapping with his. “Love, I promise, it’s alright…”

“I know, I know,” he sighed under his breath. “Fuck, why in the Void am I so nerv—”

“Anders,” Elissa said excitedly, her whole face lighting up with how plainly ecstatic she was to be there, to see him again. “Maker, it’s…it’s so _nice_ to see you!”

“Elissa, my darling,” Zevran noted as they pushed over another chair for her before sitting back down themself, and then began blatantly pointing to each individual member of their party. “So, for those you don’t know…that’s Merrill, who is Isabela’s lovely wife, and that is Varric, Carver and Norah, Aveline and Donnic, this is Fenris, and this—”

 _“You_ must be Trista,” Elissa smiled widely towards her, still standing awkwardly, although she had at least moved to hover over the chair Zevran had procured for her. She looked as though she was about to extend her hand but must have realised quickly enough that such a reach from where they both were would be far too difficult. “It is _wonderful_ to meet you!”

“And _this,_ everyone,” Zevran continued with a large grin, _“this—”_

“It’s an honour,” Carver interrupted and then nervously cleared his throat. “Sorry, Zevran, I didn’t mean to—I, umm, I was a fairly new recruit when Lothering was evacuated and we…well, you know, but I’d always wanted to join up and I was even considering looking into the Wardens eventually, so…”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well, Carver,” Elissa remarked before finally sitting down, and she sounded entirely sincere.

“I didn’t, umm, I didn’t realise you’d be here so soon,” Anders noted, his nerves still showing even though they already seemed to have lessened somewhat, and Hawke took his hand beneath the table. However, she also absent-mindedly lit a cigarette with her other hand to ease her own anxiety at the same time.

“I didn’t, either,” Elissa laughed, and there was something about it that was so kind. “As it turns out, though, the grand opening of the museum was pushed up by almost a month, and with nothing of note left on my calendar for at least a little bit, I said ‘fuck it’ and literally went straight from the ribbon cutting ceremony to the airport.”

“Museum?” Anders asked, his hand steadying in Hawke’s more and more.

“Oh!” Elissa appeared apologetic but did not say as much. “Did I not tell you? We finally managed to make it happen _and_ it’s even in Highever, the Bryce and Eleanor Cousland Memorial Museum. Alistair personally made sure everything pushed through with it, and it officially opened this morning.”

“Maker, I always forget you’re on a first-name basis with the Fereldan Prime Minister,” Anders chuckled.

“So would you be if you’d stuck around, you know,” Elissa smiled. “He _did_ quite like you.”

“Are you taking your turn, or are you just enjoying making me look like an ass up here, Zev?” Isabela exclaimed into her microphone, to which Zevran shrugged with a wink she must have been able to see. “Alright, fine, next up: me.”

“Anders, you’ve never mentioned palling around with His Excellency,” Aveline started, but a sharp burst of laughter from Elissa cut her off.

“Oh Maker, sorry,” she went on as soon as she could catch her breath. “I’ll have to tell him someone _actually_ called him that…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to seem rude, it’s just funny because you would not fucking _believe_ how much he hates it.”

_“Moon hangs around, a blade over my head reminds me what to do before I’m dead…”_

“Really?” Aveline cocked her head at Elissa, obviously more than a little bit intrigued. “Umm, if I might ask…”

_“Night consumes light and all I dread reminds me what to do before I’m dead…”_

“Okay, best way to put it would be,” Elissa seemed to search her mind for words, taking a second before nodding slightly and continuing. “Okay, well…have you guys watched Parks and Rec?”

_“Sun reclines, heats my mind…”_

“You have _got_ to be fucking _kidding_ me,” Donnic sighed with a smile as Anders burst out cackling.

“Should I even ask?” Elissa smiled at Donnic, to which Aveline shook her head and Fenris answered, anyway.

“You’re basically looking at Ben and Leslie right now,” he smirked. “And because they have not watched, it appears to be that much funnier to make fun of them for it somehow.”

_“Reminds me what to leave behind, light eats night and all I never said, reminds me what to do before I’m dead…”_

“Alright, sorry but this is still the best I’ve got,” Elissa laughed to segue into the remainder of her explanation. “You know how at the end of the show, after Gunderson dies, Jerry’s put in as interim mayor and it’s understood that it’s only a temporary thing but the people absolutely love him and there’s that huge write-in campaign to keep him in office? Well, it’s just like that, except that Jerry actually wanted to be mayor to begin with.”

_“To touch you, epochs fly, reminds me what I hide, reminds me, the desert skies…”_

“You really could have explained that without the reference, you know,” Anders chuckled despite himself.

“Oh, but this way’s so much more fun,” Elissa teased. “Besides, I just assumed literally everyone ever would know it.”

“Fair,” Hawke laughed between puffs of smoke.

“Don’t get me wrong about him, though,” Elissa added. “He’s learned the role, and quite well, at that. The people love him and he’s grown comfortable with the position, but I don’t think he’ll ever really be okay with all the formality it comes with. Although, in reality, that may just be one of the reasons he’s so well liked, so I suppose it all works out in the end.”

_“Cracks the spies, reminds me what I never tried, the ocean wide, salted red, reminds me what to do before I’m dead…”_

“Oh, so, anyway!” Elissa shouted after a second, looking straight at Hawke. “You…I have heard so much about you! I…I obviously need to know everything about you, of course…”

“Uh,” Hawke looked back nervously, eyes wide. “I, umm…I promise you I’m not that interesting…”

She finished her cigarette, put it out in the nearest ashtray, and then instantly lit a new one, eerily mechanical in her movements, just as it always was when her nerves were as shot as they were then. It was already more than evident enough that there was no need to remain so on-edge, but Anders clearly felt it, too, or perhaps just picked up on it from her, but either way she took comfort in his inching closer into her.

_“To see you, to touch you, to feel you, to tell you…”_

“Maker’s balls, uh, sorry to put you on the spot like that, Trista,” Elissa went on shyly. “Or, sorry, is it Hawke? Anders calls you Trista but he also said he’s the only one aside from your brother who does, so—”

Hawke laughed easily at that, not so much laughing at Elissa but in some strange relief over the fact that she seemed as anxious about being there as they were to have her, for as much as Hawke could not possibly wrap her head around the idea, for as little sense as it made to her.

“Yes, that’s correct,” she smiled with her response. “But either way is fine, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?”

_“The sun reclines, remind me, the desert skies remind me, the ocean wide, salted red reminds me…”_

“Andraste’s tits, Elissa,” Anders grinned. “I don’t recall you being so…so, umm—”

“So much like you?”

Everyone had a reaction to that, mostly involving boisterous laughter and even a couple of slow claps.

“Ah, I am being summoned again,” Zevran noted, and Isabela was, in fact, staring daggers at them, even if her smirk betrayed her. “I shall return.”

“Sorry, I, umm,” Elissa smiled and bit her lip nervously. “I just really missed you, Anders. I was so worried about you, we all were, and now here we are and it’s just…it’s just _really_ good to see you.”

“Thanks,” Anders said quietly, his own nerves seeming to ease, as well. “How is everyone, anyway?”

_“Let me take you on a trip around the world and back, and you won’t have to move, you just sit still, now let your mind do the walking, let my body do the talking, let me show you the world in my eyes…”_

“Oh wow, huh…well, it’s been so long now—”

“As you keep referencing…”

 _“Well_ …hmm, Kristoff and Aura just bought the old Turnoble Estate…Nathaniel and Delilah have an apartment in the city with Ser Pounce-a-Lot, which has been a nice arrangement since he’s been doing a _ton_ of travelling lately…”

“I’m sorry, wait,” Carver interjected. “You mean the Howes? You’re _actually_ close with them? I honestly thought that was just some weird rumour.”

“Yeah, you know, I hear that a lot,” Elissa smiled. “Nathaniel and Delilah are both very good friends, despite everything, and they are _certainly_ nothing like their father.”

“But I…I’m sorry, I don’t know,” Carver shook his head. “It’s just difficult to wrap my head around the idea of becoming BFFs with anyone even remotely related to someone who…fuck, sorry, I…sorry…”

_“I’ll take you to the highest mountain, to the depths of the deepest sea, we won’t need a map, believe me…”_

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise,” Elissa replied gently. “Believe me, it took some time. Anders was there, he can tell you. Yes, I was orphaned in an assassination staged by a power hungry war criminal and his followers and I’m sure that anything you’ve ever heard on that count is entirely true, and of course that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through, but his children were never counted among his cronies. Neither of them had anything to do with Rendon Howe’s fucking coup, and I _was_ directly involved with the tribunal that convicted him for his part in my parents’ deaths, which could make it very easy to blame me for _his._ Which Nathaniel did at first, but it works both ways. We heard each other out, we learned about each other, and we built a trust out of that. Anders was a huge help.”

“I try,” Anders shrugged with a nervous smile.

“Anyway,” Elissa continued, “I set Oghren and Felsi up with a private marriage counsellor I found, and I think he’s finally starting to open up to working through his _personal_ issues, and umm…oh, and Velanna and Sigrun just got a place together in Wending Wood!”

“You mean—”

“In a gay way, yeah.”

“Nice.”

Every passing second, every small inflection and tiny expression between Anders and Elissa had everyone breathing easier. It was fascinating for Hawke to watch them, the way their demeanors changed more and more with every bit of banter.

_“That’s all there is, nothing more than you can feel now, that’s all there is…”_

“So how exactly did you two meet, anyway?” Merrill asked, looking between Anders and Elissa with curiosity shining through her eyes.

“Everyone already knows I ran away from Kinloch,” Anders sighed. “I ran, caught some rides, ran some more, didn’t really have an aim, and then I just sort of ended up where I ended up and things finally worked out.”

Hawke had a thought, just a thought, and she almost formed it into a question but caught herself quickly enough, realising it was neither the time nor the place to vocalise such a thing. She was amazed at the same time, however, that she’d never even considered it before, never considered the possibility that Amaranthine was not exactly an accident, only just then realised how likely it was he’d have ended up passing through Amaranthine on the way to Kirkwall from Kinloch. How easily things added up, pointed to the probability that he was always going to run to Kirkwall.

_“Let me put you on a ship on a long, long trip…”_

She took a long drag from her cigarette when she realised her mouth was open, hoping no one would notice she’d almost spoken.

“I don’t know how much is really my place to say,” Elissa shrugged, looking nervous again for just a moment, and Anders nodded at her to indicate that it was okay. “Well, we were rebuilding the Keep there, most everything was abandoned and it had taken heavy damage and…well, this one was squatting in one of the less-hospitable options, so I offered him an actual bed. A few days later there’s a knock at my door from a couple of fuckers telling me they represent Kinloch Hold, that there’s a dangerous patient on the loose and they’d received a tip that he was in the area—they had his picture on the news encouraging people to turn him in and everything, it was awful. Anders was, understandably, afraid and upset, and I learned after that he was in the midst of a manic episode on top of all that, so I did what I could. Fuck, I did the very least of the right thing, honestly.”

_“Let me show you the world in my eyes…”_

“Blondie’s mentioned something about you telling them to go fuck themselves, yeah,” Varric laughed.

_“Nothing more than you can touch now…”_

“Blondie? You mean Anders? Hmm,” Elissa mused with a smile. “His hair always looked more on the red side to me, but…oh well, anyway, that is pretty much how it went, if I’m honest. Once they gave me the rundown and I understood why he was there and hiding in such conditions, I explicitly told them that I had seen him and that he was under my protection with a grand old proclamation of _‘you know who the fuck I am,’_ and as soon as they left I told Anders the same.”

“And that was it?” Merrill asked. “They didn’t come back?”

“Oh no, they did,” Anders chuckled.

“But Alistair was there that time,” Elissa started laughing. “There was no way they were pushing it with him, you should’ve seen it…”

“You never told me that part, love,” Hawke smiled, and Anders shrugged with a smirk.

“That’s when I decided to start moving forward in any way I could, though,” Elissa noted as her laughter dwindled. “I didn’t know what all I could really do but I’d be damned if they took him back as long as I could help it, so he became an honorary Cousland, name and all.”

“That’s really sweet,” Merrill grinned before moving to stand, and then pointed at Zevran heading back their way. “I think I’m gonna go give Isabela something to do.”

“Miss anything good?” Zevran asked once they’d sat back down.

“Just a lot of exposition,” Varric replied.

“Maker, you’re pretentious,” Fenris snickered. “Not everything’s a fucking story.”

“Yes the fuck it is,” Varric countered. “You can’t fight me on that one and you know it, Broody.”

“Why do I have the _terrible_ feeling we’re all going to end up as shitty caricatures of ourselves in your memoirs someday?” Fenris teased.

“Probably because you’re smart,” Aveline laughed.

_“Best of cruel intentions, finding what they fail to mention…”_

“Oh come on, you don’t have anything to worry about and you know it,” Varric retorted. “The fucking _Hero of Ferelden_ is here now! None of you are nearly interesting enough to compete with that! By the way, have a drink, Commander!”

“Oh no,” Elissa laughed awkwardly. “Now I’m the one who’s worried.”

“Quick learner, she is,” Norah said with a nod.

Carver shook his head, his own nerves about sharing a table with a war hero he so obviously admired also beginning to dissipate. “So are we just ignoring the cake now, or…?”

_“You give and we take it, you build it, we break it, you sign and we erase it, you feel it, we fake it…”_

“There’s plates and shit around here somewhere,” Varric noted, and Norah pulled a stack from a nearby shopping bag, as well as a bag of plastic cutlery.

“Oh Maker, whose birthday?” Elissa asked after a second. “I’m not intruding, am I?”

_“It’s my red star, steal it, it’s my red star, can’t let go, it’s my red star, conceal it, it’s my red star, I know…”_

“No, of course not,” Hawke answered enthusiastically, and quite sincerely, although she hadn’t been sure she meant it until the words actually left her mouth. “It’s mine and…no, I’m honestly really glad you’re here.”

Words which were also true, much to her own surprise.

“Oh, thank you,” Elissa said excitedly with the purest, most genuine smile. “Oh and…Varric, right? Varric, please do not ever fucking call me that again.”

“Oh, it really is my birthday!” Hawke giggled. “Please, Elissa, do go on about how Varric shouldn’t say things.”

“Only Commander with the troops, I take it?” Varric asked carefully.

_“Wasted education, celebrating imitation, misplaced admiration, speaking for a generation…”_

“‘Hero of Ferelden,’ I mean,” Elissa scowled. “I’m sorry, I know how people mean it, I know it’s supposed to be an honour or some shit, but…Void, I don’t know. It just feels wrong. I’m really not that special, I promise you, and I was never alone in anything I did during the war. I’ve never understood why I was singled out.”

“All due respect, Elissa, but come the fuck on,” Anders spoke up gently. “You’ve told me way too many stories about the bloody _civilians_ who volunteered themselves to work with you, not even to mention that whole thing we were just talking about where you damn near overthrew the Fereldan government all by yourself, and then we’re still not touching all of your post-war outreach, so…”

_“You feel it, we fake it…”_

“Anders, please,” Elissa sighed softly. “I appreciate it and all but…please.”

“Alright,” Anders agreed. “Just…you know.”

_“It’s my red star…”_

“Yeah, I know.” Elissa forced a smile, and everyone silently agreed to change the subject.

“You certainly are special, though,” Hawke let slip, anyway, barely even taking a breath before continuing so that she might explain her unintended thinking out loud. “I mean, just with what you…with what you did for Anders and everything and I…I really owe you for that one.”

_“It’s my red star…”_

Hawke quickly diverted her attention back to smoking rather than risk stumbling any further over her own words, yet at the same time she was immensely relieved to see that fake smile Elissa had uncomfortably maintained from the prior topic of conversation morph into a genuine grin.

“Believe me, Trista,” she remarked, her tone laden with sincere affection. “The pleasure’s all mine on that count.”

_“It’s my red star…”_

“Maker,” Anders scoffed awkwardly, terribly unaccustomed to being the centre of attention in such a manner. “Well, if no one else is going up, I’m gonna put another song in. Want to do anything else before I do, love?”

_“It’s my red star, I know…”_

“No, I’m good right now,” Hawke shook her head. “Thanks, though.”

Anders stood up to head over to Isabela’s station, but not before leaning over Hawke to kiss the top of her head after he’d gotten to his feet. She allowed herself a small, unapologetic giggle at the contact, of how warm his presence felt, of how much she was growing to enjoy sharing it with Elissa.

“You two really are a sight, you know,” Elissa smiled.

“Tell me about it,” Carver and Fenris both whined sarcastically.

“So,” Elissa went on, “Zev tells me you’ve mentioned the possibility of…umm, moving forward, you know, in your future together?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Varric chuckled. “She says that all the time.”

 _“All_ the time,” Aveline confirmed in a similar tone.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t really think about it,” Merrill chimed in after sitting back down. “Wouldn’t it mean quite the opposite, in fact?”

_“I, who took the money, who took the money away, it’s always showtime here at the edge of the stage, I, I, I wake up and wonder, what was the place, what was the name, we wanna wait but here we go again…”_

“That is a good point, Kitten,” Isabela stated, surprising the group with her appearance as she so often did. “Thinking of jumping on the bandwagon for real, Hawke?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Hawke sighed. “It’s not a fucking bandwagon…”

“Isn’t it?” Varric scowled playfully.

“It totally is with this lot, though,” Fenris agreed with a smirk.

“Donnic, sweetheart, is it too late to uninvite some of these assholes to _our_ wedding?” Aveline asked in playful pleading.

“I’m afraid so,” Donnic laughed. “I don’t know if I can find a pinch hitter for a best man with Fenris’s exact measurements in time, at least.”

“Yeah, that fucking tuxedo is non-refundable,” Fenris added, an undertone of laughter creeping up through his words. “And expensive, so I’d be _extremely_ offended on multiple levels.”

“Damn, you are way ahead of me on shit right now,” Aveline remarked. “So, uh, Hawke, will you be—”

“Of course.”

“Cool.”

_“I got a girlfriend that’s better than that, she’s got the smoke in her eyes, she’s coming up, going right through my home, she’s gonna give me surprise, I think it’s right, better than this…”_

“Okay, wow, maybe it really is a bandwagon,” Elissa chuckled.

“Regardless,” Merrill said quickly. “Creators only know how much love there is between you two, and only you two can judge what that means for you. Trust your heart, Hawke. If it’s telling you things are right, then perhaps they are.”

“Thanks, Merrill,” Hawke uttered quietly, lighting another cigarette. “I mean, sure, we’re not even a year on yet, but…”

“But what?” Elissa leaned forward as well as she could with the limited space left on the table, unironically setting down her elbows and resting her chin over her hands.

“But yeah, I do think about it…I think about it seriously, too. I don’t know, this is all still fairly new in the grand scheme of things but if Merrill says I should trust my heart, well… _he_ is what it wants.” There was a sudden passion in Hawke’s words, and she swore she could feel the awkwardness she felt over it rushing to colour her cheeks even as she kept talking. “I want to show the world, the fucking Chantry, everything that wants to stand in our way—I want to tell the world and everyone in it that I love him and I will stand beside him.”

“Maker,” Carver sighed, and Hawke immediately readied herself for the defensive.

“Maker _what?”_

“No, I…I mean,” Carver started, shaking his head with a small, oddly endearing laugh. “I was honestly just thinking about what it would be like if Father was alive to hear you talk like this.”

“Maker, indeed,” Hawke sighed, as well.

_“Why, why, why, why start it over, nothing was lost, everything’s free, I don’t care how impossible it seems…”_

“He’d be so proud,” Carver noted solemnly, but then his eyes lit up, obviously already eager to move on from such a moment. “But I mean, are you expecting him to ask any time soon? Or is this all hypothetical right now? And don’t forget that Aveline and Donnic still have dibs on going next.”

“Damn right,” the couple in question said together, much to everyone’s amusement.

“I know, I know,” Hawke followed quickly. “Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about that one, I know my place.”

_“Hey, only one look and that’s all it takes, maybe that’s all that we need, all that it takes, I’ll get it right, all that it takes, all that it’s right, I got a girlfriend that’s better than that, she goes wherever she likes, there she goes…”_

“Why can’t she do it, though?” Norah asked sincerely, and then she turned her attention away from Carver. “Hawke, you don’t exactly seem like the kind of person who’d bind yourself to fucked up traditional gender roles, come on now.”

“Yes, exactly!” Zevran proclaimed enthusiastically. “I was just going to say that very same thing, myself!”

_“I got a girlfriend that's better than that, now everyone’s getting involved, she’s moving up, going right through my heart…”_

“You know…umm, yeah, that’s fair. And by the way, Carver, I am so proud of you and your uncharacteristically good life choices right now.” Hawke laughed, took a drag, took a drink, and shook her head. “Well, alright, Elissa, is this where some sort of speech goes? The obligatory older sibling-style ‘you break their heart, I break your neck’ sort of deal?”

“Andraste’s tits, you know he has over a decade on me, right?”

“Well, you know, with the way he’s always talked about you and everything—”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Elissa smirked and looked up to meet Hawke’s eyes. “I’m not worried. I think you’re both in good hands.”

“So, wait, does that mean _I’m_ getting some big fucking speech at some point?” Norah laughed.

“Carver would like that, wouldn’t he?” Hawke snickered, briefly sticking her tongue out at her brother before moving back to a more serious demeanor. “I don’t know, though, about…you know. Actually, no, that’s honestly a massive fucking lie. I do know, at least on my end, but…I guess it’s just, well, a lot, you know?”

_“As we get older and stop making sense, you won’t find her waiting long…”_

“I know you’ll figure it out,” Merrill noted with a smile. “I believe in you, Hawke.”

_“Stop making sense, stop making sense, stop making sense, making sense…”_

“Stop making sense,” Isabela echoed with a chuckle. “Heart beats ‘logic’ any day. At least that’s what Kitten’s taught me.”

_“I got a girlfriend, she’s better than that, and nothing is better than this…”_

“Nothing is better than this,” Hawke mused softly in time with the lyric, not quite singing along but almost, and she pondered how much sense not making sense truly made, how far she was yet willing to take it, but she knew for sure how very much she liked the sound of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So holy fuck, THIS FIC IS ALMOST A YEAR OLD!
> 
> My baby here, this fucking story you are currently reading, was born on 6 January 2016, and I cannot believe how far it's come! And you know...
> 
> Yes, _of course,_ I do have plans for its anniversary. As always, [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) is my partner in crime and my beautiful sister and an excellent co-conspirator BUT this time I am actually going to have to tell you to blame [little_abyss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss) because what's coming is genuinely _entirely_ their fault and I'm sorry and you're welcome. :p
> 
> Reference to the Anders hair discourse that recently occurred on Tumblr also a shoutout to [Mnemosynea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemosynea). ;)
> 
> And if you wanna witness me scream any further about more things, you are always welcome to travel deeper into the trash pit via [my Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com). :D


	67. More Than Just a Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of Bethany and Karl, vague suicide attempt reference, brief allusion to alcohol abuse
> 
> A fairly fluffy update for the most part. Oh, and some smut surprised me by showing up at the end! _And_ it even isn't sad! :D
> 
> ["A Place Called Home" by PJ Harvey](https://youtu.be/_m2NyS3IDjE)   
>  ["Climbing Up the Walls" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/_v2rehPAf5Y)   
>  ["Do You Love Me?" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds](https://youtu.be/lZGPB4463mM)   
>  ["Something to Do" by Depeche Mode](https://youtu.be/S7ipRQPKOZ4)

_“One day, I know we’ll find a place of hope, just hold onto me, just hold onto me…”_

Hawke picked her first song that Wednesday quite deliberately, and at a quick glance across the tavern from the booth she saw that Elissa was absolutely beaming watching her.

_“Walk tight, one line, you’re wanted this time, there’s no one to blame, just hold onto me…”_

Elissa had also made a point to pop over to Lirene’s each work day thus far since she’d arrived in Kirkwall, which was greeted by an abundance of joy from Lirene herself. Their first meeting had gone exactly as anyone could have predicted it would, replete with long embraces and overwhelming thanks. It was always incredible for Hawke to witness just how loved Anders was, how he touched so many people in so many ways. It always made her so happy, and reminded her how fortunate she was to be the one who got to come home to him every day.

_“And I’m right on time (my love), and the birds keep singing, and you’re right on line, and the bells keep ringing (come on), and the battle is won (my love), and the planes keep winging, and I’m right on time, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the girl keeps singing)…”_

Not that she ever needed to be reminded, not that it was something she could ever possibly forget, but it never ceased to bring her such warmth she’d never previously known.

To welcome her home again and again.

_“I walk and I wade through full lands and lonely I stumble, I stumble, with you I wait to be born again, with love comes the day, just hold onto me…”_

One thing she’d learned over the past few days, too, to her immeasurable entertainment, was that it was downright fucking dangerous to put Lirene and Elissa in the same room after Saturday night’s conversations. Hawke wasn’t going to admit to either of them—or to anyone, for that matter—that she found all the fuss extremely flattering, that it meant the world and beyond to her that for as amazing as Anders was, anyone could possibly think her so good for him.

_“And I’m right on time (my love), and the birds keep singing, and you’re right on line, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the bells keep ringing, come on), and the battle is won (my love), and the planes keep winging, and I’m right on time, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the girl keeps singing)…”_

“Because you feel like home, and this place never really did until you walked into it.”

She remembered those words like it was yesterday, even in the chaos that had brought them forward, her mind wandered into Anders’s voice, into that strange memory and its tiny bursts of hope despite how much of it there was to despise.

Elissa didn’t know about that part, but it already seemed it’d be too late to change her mind about Hawke even if she did.

_“Now is the time to follow through, to read the signs, now the message is sent, let’s bring it to its final end…”_

She tried not to let herself look away from the words on the screen, tried to keep a meticulous eye on the lyrics to keep the time, given that the necessary backing vocals provided by the karaoke track left very little wiggle room for mistakes with the pacing.

_“And I’m right on time (my love), and the birds keep singing, and you’re right on line, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the bells keep ringing, come on), and the battle is won (my love), and the planes keep winging, and I’m right on time, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the girl keeps singing)…”_

It was hard not to, however, difficult not to tempt a potential lapse to look up to see if Anders felt what she was trying to express, even just to see if he was watching.

_“And I’m right on time (my love), and the birds keep singing, and you’re right on line, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the bells keep ringing, come on), and the battle is won (my love), and the planes keep winging, and I’m right on time, one day there’ll be a place for us (and the girl keeps singing)…”_

He was certainly watching, his eyes wide looking towards her even in the smallest flash where she met his before focusing her attention back to what she was there to do. He felt it, though, of that she was absolutely sure.

It seemed sort of silly to her, the way she felt herself smile, the way the song became easier to sing with every note. She was thinking way too much about how seriously Elissa had taken her casual musings and she was strangely okay with it.

_“One (my love) day, I (one day there’ll be a place for us) know (come on) there’ll be (my love) a place called (one day there’ll be a place for us) home…”_

Anders was home, though, that much was unequivocally her most important truth, and she didn’t even know if anything she did with him anymore in regards to the progression of their relationship could be considered jumping the gun.

At the very least, the fucking Commander of the Grey didn’t seem to think so.

Anders and Hawke passed each other switching places, and she was almost embarrassed by the way she smiled at him as they did, the way she bit down on her bottom lip in a poor effort to suppress it.

She had a lot on her mind, and while that was an unusually good thing, of course she still intended to keep it from him.

“Nicely done,” Elissa told her the moment she sat down.

“Thanks,” she replied somewhat awkwardly, still getting used to the new dynamic but also increasingly sad that the change was only temporary. She had already grown quite attached to Elissa, to the extra pillar of support she provided, to that additional reminder of how loved he was that her presence offered Anders. “You gonna do anything?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Elissa smiled with a slight shrug, and Merrill gave her a questioning look as she began to slide a songbook her way, to which she nodded in acceptance. “Oh, thank you!”

“You’re most welcome,” Merrill answered with her own nod.

_“I am the key to the lock in your house that keeps the toys in your basement, and if you get too far inside, you’ll only see my reflection…”_

“Again?” Varric glanced towards Anders. “You okay, Hawke?”

It took her a second to understand the question, and she laughed a little at it once it hit her. “Oh yeah…yeah, it’s just become rather… _comforting.”_

“I can see that,” Carver laughed, much to her surprise. “Maker knows Bethany’d have fucking _loved_ his Thom Yorke impression.”

Elissa had opened up the book before her and was eagerly flipping through pages and visibly taking mental notes, but she was also clearly still listening intently to everyone around her, not breaking away from the catalogue to speak again. “So, Trista, have you given any more thought to what I—”

“To what you keep saying?” Hawke chuckled.

_“It’s always best when the light is off, I am the pick in the ice, do not cry out or hit the alarm, you know we’re friends ‘til we die…”_

“Yeah, well,” Elissa replied, unfazed. “Have you, though?”

“Of course I have,” Hawke sighed. She hoped she didn’t come across as annoyed, as that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but it was a lot for her to take to heart at the same time. She’d never could have imagined being in a position where she’d ever care about something like this before she met Anders. She wasn’t even 100% why she cared so much, if she was honest. She didn’t have any real concern about things being official on a legal scale and she definitely didn’t care about any possible religious implications. She supposed she just liked the gesture, just the idea of making it into a spectacle. He was worth making a big deal over, she knew that, and perhaps she simply wanted to do so. “Well, you know, it’ll be a year in Bloomingtide, so maybe then…”

She absent-mindedly lit a cigarette, trying to organise her thoughts. Wintermarch had just shy of a fortnight left to it, and the Underground was going to be moving as fast as they could throughout Guardian to try to prepare for the next protest, officially scheduled for the middle of Drakonis. That would take up a lot of their focus, especially considering that Anders was already dedicating a ton of extra time to his work as Justice, writing and drawing for his mini-manifestos as often as he could.

That would leave the rest of that month and then all of Cloudreach through the end of Bloomingtide itself for them to cool down from the event, though, to figure out exactly what she wanted to do and to prepare herself for it, as well.

_“And either way you turn, I’ll be there, open up your skull, I’ll be there, climbing up the walls…”_

“Hawke,” Aveline said tensely, and Hawke looked up towards her nervously. The Underground had only just finalised the date a couple of days before and while neither she nor Anders had spoken to anyone else about it yet, it seemed a safe assumption that Aveline already knew and this would be the time to bring it up, although Hawke felt it an odd moment just then specifically, unsure if that could actually be it when there was no adequate transition, when the shift would be so abrupt. Aveline could be painfully maternal towards her, of course, but she at least had tact about it.

“Aveline,” Hawke responded, mimicking Aveline’s tone. “What did I do now?”

“You didn’t—well, you haven’t done anything _yet,”_ Aveline actually smiled for just a moment, followed by a strange sigh, her mood entirely unreadable. “But I know you’re going to no matter how I feel about it, so…well…”

Aveline cleared her throat, and she looked oddly anxious, which sat heavily over Hawke. “Aveline, what the fuck?”

_“It’s always best when the light is off, it’s always better on the outside, fifteen blows to the back of the head, fifteen blows to your mind…”_

“All I’m saying is that you know damn well word’s already reached the guard about your, umm, _little organisation’s_ next move,” Aveline started again carefully. “So, you know, if that’s really how you feel and you two are so damn set on being that reckless with your lives, well…I know I don’t have to tell you how dangerous this shit is and what sort of risk you’re taking, but maybe that also means you really _should_ lay it all out, where you stand on this. I can’t even fucking _believe_ I’m saying this, but if—Maker forbid—anything does happen to either of you, then at least it doesn’t happen with something of this magnitude left unsaid.”

_“So lock the kids up safe tonight, put the eyes in the cupboard, I’ve got the smell of a local man who’s got the loneliest feeling…”_

“Well, shit,” Varric mumbled, reaching towards Hawke for the ashtray she was hoarding, and she playfully put her hand over it to keep it from him, at which he only locked eyes with her and added quite a scowl until she pushed it the tiniest bit further towards him.

“What?” Aveline asked just at the end of their staring contest.

“That’s some deep shit, Red,” he laughed quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Aveline shrugged. “Fair enough. Donnic and I _do_ still have dibs, mind you, but…like I said, perhaps it’s just best you both know _exactly_ how you feel before you do anything rash.”

“You already know I agree with Aveline,” Merrill smiled, and something about it made Hawke’s lips curl of their own will right with her.

“It’s decided, then?” Elissa chuckled, and Hawke shook her head.

_“I’ll be there…”_

“If it were really that simple—”

“Isn’t it?” Merrill interrupted. “Sorry, Hawke, but I just…well, you know…Aveline does bring up really good points.”

“I know she does,” Hawke sighed. “But…”

“But _what?”_ Carver cut in. “Look, last time you went out like that was absolutely terrifying for all of us, and in the end we’re all thankful the worst that happened was your face getting all fucked up, but if something like that happens again, or even anything…anything even… _anyway,_ you never know, alright? Do whatever you want with that, I guess.”

_“I’ll be there…”_

“Tactful as ever, Carver,” was what she said, but the thoughts racing through her head were a completely different story.

She could easily read between the lines, to hear the words that Carver could not bring himself to say, the clear implication of “anything worse” and precisely what that meant. Of course, hers and Anders’s anniversary was not the only notable passage of time that would be coming up in Bloomingtide, the memory of Bethany’s death hovering over them both in that moment, its weight practically tangible.

Still, even with that thought looming, her mind gravitated towards another remarkable loss, to Karl and all the ways Anders would always hurt over losing him. She fixated on Anders’s regret over never telling Karl that he loved him, on what it would do to her if she never got the chance to tell Anders how far she was willing to take her love for him.

_“Climbing up the walls…”_

She reminded herself that it wasn’t as though they’d never discussed it at all, even if it was always in hypotheticals, laden with maybes and somedays. Anders knew she loved him, she knew that even he could not deny how very well established that fact had become, just as even she could not deny that he absolutely loved her in return. Their friends were right, though, that this felt like something greater than that knowledge alone. She wasn’t sure how or why it suddenly seemed so important, how or why she agreed that it should be spoken on top of everything else they already knew as soon as possible in case the chance was ever lost, yet the fact remained that it was important to her and that she did agree, and it was easy to see that no amount of arguing with herself over the matter would any longer be able to change it. It was locked in, she realised, even if she would be content to sit on it a while longer were it not for her friends’ sudden outpouring of advice. All the same, though, she also could not argue their points.

_“Climbing up the walls…”_

“Can we just put a pin in this for now?” She asked awkwardly, instinctively lighting a cigarette and teasing Varric by moving the ashtray just a little bit more towards her again, even though he was already actively smoking. “There’s a little time yet, don’t worry. I have a lot to think about now, though, I suppose. More than I thought I did.”

She ended the statement with a nervous laugh and a forced smile, trying to at least make fun of herself some, to play along even though she fully realised there was no game here.

“Fucking bandwagon, yeah,” Fenris chuckled and looked at her with a smirk, and she wondered if perhaps he was playing with her in an attempt to lighten the tension.

“Fine, fine,” Elissa sighed playfully, still fumbling through the book. “Hmm, I wonder if she has…”

She trailed off, and it seemed she did so deliberately, but practically everyone present answered her unfinished question, anyway.

“She does.”

_“Climbing up the walls…”_

“She barely even keeps up with updating those things anymore,” Merrill grinned, noting the songbook. “I’m fairly convinced she has every song ever written at this point. Check with her if you want, of course, but be warned that since you’re new, she’ll probably bump you up right away.”

“Thanks, Merrill,” Elissa nodded. “I’m going to do that.”

She stood up to see Isabela just as Anders was stepping down, but before she walked off she took an extra second to whisper to Hawke, “This one’s for you two.”

“Oh no,” Hawke replied to no one, as Elissa had already gone before she could say anything, but her words also thankfully just missed Anders.

“Oh no,” he echoed unknowingly when he sat back down. “Just for fair warning, she’s been trained in opera, so we’re all about to look absolutely terrible.”

“Save for you,” Carver laughed, continuing to surprise Hawke with his evening commentary, although his look of uncomfortable regret as soon as the words left his mouth was a predictable follow-up. “I mean, well, have you heard you?”

“Umm, thanks,” Anders smiled shyly, and a strange certainty about her feelings swept over Hawke at even that minor exchange.

_“I found her on a night of fire and noise, wild bells rang in a wild sky, I knew from that moment on I’ll love her ‘til the day that I die, and I kissed away a thousand tears, my lady of the various sorrows, some begged, some borrowed, some stolen, some kept safe for tomorrow, on an endless night, silver star spangled, the bells from the chapel went jingle-jangle…”_

“Ah, she has neglected to show off, it seems,” Zevran laughed over Elissa’s singing, which was in fact beautiful, but also not quite what Anders’s warning had prepared her for. “Anders is correct, of course, because rich people are fucking weird, but perhaps she is being nice to us.”

“Seems so,” Hawke smiled, even though she understood perfectly well why she chose the song she did from the very second it started, what she was trying to express, that it was a further means to encourage.

_“Do you love me, do you love me, do you love me, do you love me like I love you…”_

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Varric noted towards Zevran, who had been oddly content to sit back and observe.

“I see you already know me too well, my friend,” they laughed. “Shush, though, I’m watching.”

They nodded towards Elissa with a striking grin, and Merrill let out a quiet “aww.”

“That’s sweet,” Varric teased, even though Hawke could see that he was much more sincere than he’d want anyone to know.

“Yes, my teeth are rotting right out of my fucking head,” Fenris added, but his own demeanor implied the same.

“That must be so difficult,” Merrill sighed. “I can’t even imagine being so far from Isabela…”

_“She was given to me to put things right and I stacked all my accomplishments beside her, still I seemed so obsolete and small, I found god and all his devils inside her…”_

“Fuck,” Anders uttered under his breath, watching Elissa almost as intently as Zevran was, and then surprising Hawke by resting a hand over her thigh and gripping tighter than he likely realised, which prompted her to rest a hand overtop his. She knew he was feeling what she was feeling, precisely what Elissa had intended.

_“In my bed she cast the blizzard out, a mock sun blazed upon her head, so completely filled with light she was, her shadow fanged and hairy and mad, our love lines grew hopelessly tangled, and the bells from the chapel went jingle-jangle…”_

Anders had taken to humming along and slowly moving closer towards Hawke, obviously affected by the lyrics, of the intensity of their relevance in regards to their relationship.

Elissa certainly had a way about her.

_“Do you love me…”_

Hawke felt her hand develop an uncomfortable shake as she put out her cigarette and automatically lit another. It was ever so slight, thankfully, enough so that she believed no one else would notice it, but she knew that it was there and to an extent she knew why, despite the fact she wasn’t sure she really knew why its source would cause that kind of reaction.

_“Do you love me…”_

“Need anything?”

Hawke was grateful she didn’t jump out of her seat whenever Norah approached, that how startled she was did not seem obvious.

“Kamikaze?” It was the very first thought that came to mind, seemingly spoken before it even finished forming.

_“Do you love me…”_

“Alright, Hawke?” Aveline asked, screwing her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded quickly. “Just the one, promise. I just feel…I don’t know…”

_“Do you love me, like I love you…”_

“Just the one,” Varric laughed. Hawke shook her head, slightly disappointed that this phase of her life wasn’t yet over, although she could also acknowledge that with her history such things would take drastically more time than they’d had thus far, if they could ever truly stop being such a concern given just how deep that history went.

“Alright, then,” Norah smiled casually. “Anyone else?”

Everyone else simply ordered refills of their previous drinks, and Norah made a point to ruffle Carver’s hair before walking off to put everything in. The rest of the group visibly stifled laughter at the sight, but Zevran was still so obviously enthralled watching their partner sing that there seemed to be a silent consensus not to risk disturbing them.

_“She had a heart full of love and devotion, she had a mind full of tyranny and terror, well, I try, I do, I really try but I just err, baby, I do…”_

“Are you sure you’re okay, love?” Anders asked her quietly, nearly touching his lips to her ear in their closeness.

“Of course, love, really,” she replied after a short exhale of smoke aimed towards her lap. “I just feel really… _intense_ right now, I guess. You know?”

_“So come find me, my darling one, I’m down to the ground, to the very dregs….”_

“Yeah,” Anders said softly, a tinge of awkward amusement to his tone. “Yeah, I do, love.”

_“Ah, here she comes, blocking the sun, blood running down the inside of her legs, the moon in the sky is battered and mangled, and the bells from the chapel go jingle-jangle…”_

“By the way, Varric,” she laughed as a follow-up to another stream of smoke. “If you ever make this place non-smoking, I may _literally_ murder you.”

_“Not_ in front of the Captain of the fucking City Guard, thank you,” Aveline chuckled, and while the momentary deflection was obvious, she was grateful it was left unmentioned.

“Don’t you worry about a thing there, Hawke,” Varric smiled into his own cigarette. “I’m not gonna punish _myself_ like that, at least.”

“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Carver added and pulled out his pack, as well.

“I’d like to think you assholes could all still quit someday, though,” Aveline noted sternly, and those who were smoking sighed in exasperation. “I mean, I’m just saying. Come on, Anders, you’re a fucking doctor, back me up.”

“Love,” Hawke interjected before he could say anything, “I started smoking when I was 13, I’m pretty sure it’s straight up just a part of my fucking physiology as this point.”

Aveline scowled at her, and Anders laughed despite himself.

“There actually _may_ be some merit to that,” he told her. “Obviously as a doctor I can’t exactly _condone_ the habit, but I also know better than to try to stop anyone. After all, I do also understand the brain well enough, mind you, to realise that if someone doesn’t want to quit, it’s more than likely not going to stick even if they do.”

“Fine, fine,” Aveline rolled her eyes. “Moving on…”

_“Do you love me like I love you…”_

Norah was quick to return with their drinks, and Hawke at least had the courtesy to sip hers once it arrived, alternating between kamikaze and cigarette to force herself to maintain a pace.

_“All things move toward their end, I knew before I met her that I would lose her, I swear I made every effort to be good to her…”_

“I wonder if she forgot about this part,” Anders mused at the song’s drastic shift in feeling, and Hawke held back a laugh. “I mean, come on, love, we both know _this_ was deliberate…”

_“Crazy bracelets on her wrists and ankles, and the bells from the chapel go jingle-jangle…”_

“I know, love, yeah…and yeah, she must have,” Hawke agreed. “I think she already knows better than to think that you could ever lose me.”

_“Do you love me…”_

“I love you so much,” he added quietly, as though responding to the song itself. “You know that, love, I—”

“Anders, I know, I love you,” she eagerly cut him off, overcompensating for not wanting to miss even the slightest beat. “I love you more than anything and I promise…I promise you, love…”

_“Do you love me…”_

“I know.”

_“Like I love you…”_

She took a deep breath, took a restrained drink, finished one cigarette and swiftly started yet another.

Elissa and Zevran switched places, and the former was unnervingly quiet when she sat back down, although Hawke quickly realised that she wasn’t sure what else she could have expected with Anders present, considering the main point of their previous discussion.

The initial silence upon her return was palpable, however, and she didn’t quite know how to break it herself, so she only hoped someone else would do it before Anders could notice.

At least the liquor was already letting her loosen up some, slowing down the frantic rush of thought and feeling that had been following her for almost as long as they’d been at the tavern. Not that those thoughts and feelings were necessarily entirely unwelcome, but some semblance of a break from them was needed all the same.

_“My little girl, won’t you come home with me, come with me and tell me, is there something to do…”_

She felt herself breathe, let go just a little bit more, relax into Anders, who was still so close to her. She looked forward to finishing out the night, to getting home and in all likelihood jumping Anders as soon as they walked through the door, and then perhaps at some point over the next several weeks…

Trying not to fixate over something that still felt so strange a thing to fixate over clearly wasn’t getting her anywhere, so she turned her attention elsewhere, having instantly decided she was no longer willing to wait on at least one of those points.

“Love,” she whispered as quietly as she could, not sure how much she actually cared but still at least attempting to have some courtesy for the rest of their friends.

“Hmm?” He moved abruptly in his seat with his questioning hum, as she shifted her hand that had stayed with his over her thigh that whole time and trailed it into his lap.

_“Come with me, tell me, grey sky over a black town, I can feel depression all around, you’ve got your leather boots on, I can’t stand another drink, it’s surprising this town doesn’t sink…”_

She took a longer drink before continuing, still doing her best to mind her volume. “I’m going to finish this cigarette and then I am going to get up and you’re going to follow me into the bathroom.”

“Love…”

“We’ll lock the door, it’s alright.”

She finished her drink without meaning to and her cigarette also met its timely end, and as she crushed it into the ashtray she felt him nod.

They wordlessly stood up together and walked away, and if anyone at the table had questions or suspicions, they did not voice them.

_“You’ve got your leather boots on, you’re feeling the boredom too, I’ll gladly go with you…”_

Zevran’s voice was muffled by the door closing behind them, locked as promised, followed by Anders pinning her to the door and holding her there by her wrists, running his lips along her neck.

“Oh fuck,” she breathed out and he moved away to give them room, to figure out precisely how they were going to pull this off.

She hopped up onto the counter that held the sinks and without hesitation kicked off her boots and shimmied off her pants, only fully stripping them from one leg, already too impatient to take the time to do any more than was necessary.

Anders in turn unbuttoned and unzipped after meeting her and only let his fall as much as they needed to, and she didn’t waste a second in wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him into her, and in an instant he made his way inside her, taking what room was left between them and sliding his hands under her shirt, holding onto her breasts hard once he found them, leaning in to rest his head against her shoulder and then turning to kiss her neck again and again before biting down hard, everything in perfect time with each harsh snap of his hips.

She had herself braced with her hands on the counter, and his moved from her chest and drifted over them so he could stay closer more comfortably. His fingers wrapped around her wrists, and that combined with the sting of another aggressive bite had her trying so desperately not to shout. Such effort was, however, a complete failure, and the next sound she made was the whine she couldn’t help when Anders pulled out and took one step backwards.

“Quiet, love,” he whispered, his voice husky, and then he let her go, only to grab her shoulders to move her off, and as soon as her feet touched the floor he spun her around and pushed her over the counter. He gripped her hips and held her still to guide himself back in, and then he leaned over her, almost flush against her, one hand moving to her clit and the other to cover her mouth.

She saw how wide her eyes became in the mirror before them, and she saw that he was staring into it, too, using it to watch her.

“You like that, love?” His breathing was growing unsteady and his voice raspier, and she whimpered into his hand, focused on their reflection. “Fuck…”

Her legs were shaking, the tease of his fingers and the thrust of his cock so perfect, so perfect when combined with being able to watch themselves like this, and her knees almost buckled when she came.

“Maker, look at you,” he uttered quietly, picking up his pace, overwhelming her with sensation. “So needy, so eager to get fucked, _oh_ …this is so fucking dirty, love…”

She nodded into a barely muffled moan, her whole body hot, her back arching, entirely unsure how her legs were still supporting her at all.

“Fucking gorgeous, look at you,” he exhaled. “You look so good like this, you take it so beautifully, Maker…”

He moved faster yet and she was already coming again, and the way he struggled to suppress his own vocalisations indicated that he didn’t have much control left.

He felt like magic, the effect he had on her unmatched by anything she’d ever known, and she was completely consumed by it.

Her pupils were blown so wide there was almost no detectable colour left to her eyes, and she unwittingly held her breath when her whole body twitched violently into his and she clenched painfully tight around him, sending him flying towards his breaking point.

“Fuck, love, I…I, oh fuck, I…come with me, love, _fuck…”_

It was incredible how easily she did as she was told, and he nearly stumbled when he forced himself backwards just in time to spill onto the floor.

Without him holding on she dropped to her knees, which finally gave out on her without support, holding up so much longer than seemed possible.

“Fuck,” she sighed through the blissful haze of the afterglow, and he promptly extended a hand to help her up so they might be able to compose themselves enough to clean up.

They both fumbled with redressing, and they both sat themselves over the sinks once they accomplished that much just to allow themselves a moment, to take a second to collect before they made themselves move again.

“That was…wow.” Her voice was airy, light, content, and she struggled not to laugh at herself.

“Yeah,” he replied, sounding much the same. “Fuck, we should probably…”

“Yeah, I know…”

“Everyone’s going to know…”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

She reached beside her and took his hand, losing herself to the moment completely before it had to end. Something about the way he squeezed back, the way he sighed and they both laughed at nothing, the way it all overtook her on top of everything else she’d been thinking…

Elissa was a fucking terrible influence, and Hawke liked it. It was true, of course, that she had every intention of being as reckless as she needed to be when it came down to it. A part of her even wished she could have been involved with this before she met Anders, when she would more than happily have let that recklessness go as far as she could possibly take it, probably even farther than necessary, when she had far fewer people to leave behind and much less care about who she might hurt in the process. She couldn’t possibly regret that she went into this with Anders, though. She couldn’t regret anything about Anders, and that made things as clear to her as they could be.

She turned towards him and kissed him softly, ever so gently, before they finally got back up, and things just felt right. She felt right. She was loved, she was home, she was safe. And she wanted to feel this way forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Also still just kind of can't believe it's been almost a year since this first went up. Thank you so much to everyone who's been following this chaos! I appreciate it more than I could ever say. <3
> 
> Oh and you know, obligatory ~~un~~ friendly reminder that [this side story re: Anders never telling Karl in this universe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8052814) exists, because I am The Worst™.
> 
> And of course, if you are a fan of screaming trash, feel free to stumble further down into the landfill via [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com)!
> 
> P.S. With love to Carrie Fisher, Space Mom and Bipolar Sister, who drowned in moonlight strangled by her own bra a few days ago. You have been such a huge inspiration to me and considering the themes of this fic, it felt extra worth mentioning that you touched so many lives, even those who were never lucky enough to ever meet you, and you will be greatly missed.


	68. Oh, Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a few mentions of character deaths and a couple of breakdowns
> 
> Likely a fitting first-anniversary/birthday/something chapter, lul.
> 
> ["Gimme Danger" from Velvet Goldmine](https://youtu.be/VaDdH9Pqwq8)

Elissa had been in Kirkwall for over two weeks, and Hawke found herself bonding with her more and more by the day.

Anders had started asking how much longer she’d be around, as she had also already made a few comments about what sort of mess Ferelden might be without her. She was always only joking, of course, and apparently Alistair and Nathaniel were both keeping her regularly updated on whatever it was she needed to be kept up on, but Hawke had to admit she was surprised the famous Commander Cousland had been able to stay even as long as she had so far.

And she was, of course, still an absolutely terrible influence.

Lirene was actually on the fence about the timing, although she wholeheartedly supported the plan as a whole.

“You two are gossipping like fucking schoolgirls, surely you realise this,” Hawke laughed at them. Elissa was visiting the shop again, as she had most days she’d been in Kirkwall. It was a Thursday, entirely unassuming, no date or time of any real significance or importance in any way.

“I sign your cheques, you know,” Lirene teased in response.

“Oh come on, I’m still working,” Hawke snickered and held up a shirt from the pile she was folding for display. “So sorry about that, I didn’t mean to piss off the head of the People Who’ve Unofficially Adopted Anders Association.”

“Hey now,” Elissa laughed. “That’s _my_ title.”

“Maker…” Hawke sighed and shook her head. “You _are,_ though, just saying. Fucking schoolgirls.”

“It’s only because we love you,” Lirene grinned.

Anders had recently better explained the Underground to Elissa, as well, explained what their next demonstration was specifically intended to do, had made her understand as much as someone who still feared so much for his safety could. It was remarkably like discussing it with Aveline.

It also really amped up Elissa’s encouragements when Anders was not around. Hawke still didn’t understand why it mattered so much, why she cared as much as she did and was so willing to let Elissa’s influence in as a result, but her previous realisation that she was past talking herself out of this mindset remained.

“Forgive me if I’m out of line,” Elissa started after Hawke voiced that thought aloud. “I wonder, though, if it’s partly because of the ‘fuck you’ of the symbolism—especially since, you know, you’re basically not legally _people,_ so I know I will at least take _great_ joy in you two turning your status into a legal declaration because let’s face it, you should totally do it even if for no other reason than to point and laugh at the Chantry and the government that even for all their best efforts, you even got the chance—”

“Ew, no, definitely _not_ getting married in a Chantry,” Hawke laughed.

“Well, that’s beside the point,” Elissa smiled. “Anyway, though, _yes,_ I do digress. But there’s also, well, everything I know about the two of you. You’re absolutely disgusting together and I love it, but your lives before were so…Maker forgive me, but…hopeless. You’ve both been to the Void and back and by all possible logic, you never should have found each other. Neither of you should ever have been able to be this…I don’t want to say ‘happy,’ I know that might seem condescending considering, but—”

“I think I see what you’re saying,” Hawke interrupted, endeared by Elissa’s tendency towards such banter. She was an odd combination of peppy and perpetually anxious, although it was easy to see how, from what Hawke knew of her and all the things she had seen, she could simply be compensating for what surely lingered within some of the deeper trenches of her own mind.

“Thanks,” Elissa nodded. “I guess I can just see how, in your shoes, one might be absolutely _desperate_ to show off that they did find it.”

“I’m not _desperate,_ thank you very much,” Hawke laughed, even though she did not actually disagree with the sentiment. “At least not enough to stop being cautious just yet.”

“Oh, Maker’s balls, just _fucking do it already,”_ Elissa whined playfully. “I can’t stick around here forever, you know, and I mean…I just…if I _could_ be here, well…”

“Well?” Hawke smirked and folded her arms towards Elissa, obviously flattered for as much as she wanted to hide it.

“Well,” Elissa smiled and laughed softly. “You know, that’d be really cool.”

“Do you really _ever_ have to leave, though?” Hawke teased, but she promptly shook her head and let her guard fall. “I know, I know you do but it’s just been awesome having you around, honestly. That and, well, I still don’t know when or how or…anything, really.”

“Hey,” Elissa said, shifting into a more serious demeanor. “It probably doesn’t matter _how,_ come on. _Okay,_ the words that are about to come out of my mouth are _awful,_ but they are also true, so: all that it needs to be be ‘perfect,’ Trista, is you.

“Oh wow, that _was_ bad,” Hawke chuckled. “But I really hate how much I want to argue and yet…”

“Oh, I second you never leaving,” Lirene noted, having otherwise been standing over the counter by the cash register, evidently content simply to watch and listen. “You’re almost as good at this as I am.”

“He loves you,” Elissa shrugged at Hawke. “You love him. You’re both intense as fuck, and that works with the good things every bit as much as it can with the bad. There’s an understanding here. I really think it will work out, and the details don’t matter.”

“Well, umm, _actually,”_ Hawke started nervously. “I need to work out the specifics but I _do_ have an idea. A good one, too, if I do say so, myself.”

“Let me just text Anders to give him a heads up we’ll be going out for coffee after you get off,” Elissa laughed as she pulled out her phone. “Because we absolutely _are_ discussing this ASAP.”

“If you insist,” Hawke chuckled, although she was suddenly the most anxious she’d been about the subject yet. “But…Elissa, what you were saying about being… _intense,_ well, you’re not wrong but that’s usually not a good thing and, well, what if that’s _not_ a good thing in _this_ case? What about all that noise regarding impulsivity and acting without thinking in people with…people like Anders and me? Don’t you think that could be all this is? Why I’ve become so fixated on it? Just emotional overload or something? Oh Maker, and then with that _borderline_ thing Anders told me about, that would explain it, too, and why I’m so affected by everyone’s sugge—ah, fuck, sorry, no, I didn’t mean it that way…although I don’t know what other _way_ there even is, but…fuck…”

“It’s okay,” Elissa replied gently. “I get it—well, I don’t exactly get _it_ and I know it wouldn’t be fair of me to try to claim that I do, but…you know what I mean. Your concerns do make sense, of course, but the way you two _understand_ each other…I don’t know, it just also makes sense, at least to me, that it’ll all work out.”

“Oh okay, you’re too optimistic, _that’s_ why you can’t stay.” Hawke laughed harder than she probably should have, just in time to catch the judgmental eye of a customer walking right over to her. “Ah well…”

“I’ll be back at close, alright?” Elissa noted, readying herself to leave. “Because I am dead serious, we _absolutely_ need to continue this discussion, okay?”

“Aye, Commander,” Hawke teased, and Elissa let her get away with it.

Elissa moved to have a quick goodbye chat with Lirene before heading out, and Hawke anxiously watched her “I Have a Lot to Think About” pile seem to grow before her eyes.

She did have an idea, though, and a damn good one, at that. She was prouder of it than she felt she had any right to be, but it didn’t change how much she liked it. She hoped Elissa would like it, too.

She had way too much to think about.

***

Post-work coffee with Elissa turned out to be a very interesting experience.

She did, in fact, like Hawke’s idea. She really, really liked it. She liked it far too much, actually, at least as far as Hawke was concerned.

That did not, however, let her stop Elissa from talking her into quite possibly the most nerve-wracking impulsivity of her life. Which was saying a lot for her.

After coffee they stopped by the hotel Elissa and Zevran were staying in, and Hawke had to admit she was immensely relieved that the room was empty when they got in. They grabbed her laptop and set up the whole thing, carefully constructing each element. Hawke worried she might have gotten a bit too carried away in her efforts to seem poetic or…whatever exactly it was, but Elissa encouraged her every step of the way.

It was a perfectly average Thursday, totally unassuming, with no significance or importance to the date or time or anything of that sort. Or so it was until Elissa got through.

Hawke wasn’t sure how she’d managed to let Elissa talk her into this, wasn’t sure she was sure of anything, but she especially wasn’t sure how much she cared anymore. She felt what she felt and she knew, even if nothing else, how very real that was and how very much that mattered, and that made the rest of it okay.

At least she really fucking hoped so.

“Love?” She started upon making her way back into the apartment. She realised she still didn’t even have Elissa’s number or anything, as this was the first time it would even have come up that she might have needed it. She knew she’d want to know how everything went as soon as humanly possible, but she also realised Elissa would probably be the first person Anders would call by that point, anyway, which made feel better about that detail.

“Hey,” he responded as he walked into the main room to greet her. “You were out a while.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I was…I didn’t miss anything fun, did I?”

“No, love, although I imagine _I_ probably did,” he smiled. “I’m glad you two get along so well, of course, although I’m almost afraid of what you two could _possibly_ be talking about when I’m not around…”

“I think you know, love,” she laughed. He was only half-joking, she could tell, for as much as he seemed to want to play it off. Whether that would make what she was about to do and Elissa’s part in it more or less awkward would remain to be seen, but the moment of reckoning was looming.

“What is it, love?” He asked after a second, and she didn’t want to know what about her demeanor might have prompted such a question.

“Oh, I…I made you a thing,” she replied anxiously. She was just going to do it and get it done. Possibly not the best way to view such a thing, but her nerves were more than getting the best of her.

All the same, however, she was incredibly proud of her idea, of how creative she felt over it, how impressed she was that she was actually able to pull it off. Elissa loved it and she prayed Anders would, too.

She opened up her purse and fished out her offering, a mix CD that would not usually be anything worth noting. They both made them all the time, just adding whatever they felt like to any given disc and then tossing them into his car for later listening, the only purpose they ever served.

This one, though, was special.

“Here,” she said quietly as she handed it to him with slightly shaking hands, and the look on his face was understandably confused.

“Thanks?” He smiled, and she only gestured towards the CD, hoping he would catch the insert that showed through the clear case, on which she had painstakingly written down the name of every song, so careful to ensure perfect legibility of each character.

It took him a second, and she hadn’t yet figured out how to open her mouth again to suggest to him what she wanted him to do, but his eyes appeared to find what she needed them to find, to move onto the most anxiety-inducing playlist she’d ever made.

She wondered if she had made it too cheesy, or if he would even see beyond a series of song titles, but she hoped she’d done a good enough job, made her intentions clear.

And the tracklist went:

  1. **“This Is Love”** \- PJ Harvey
  2. **“I Feel It in My Heart”** \- Talking Heads
  3. **“We Are”** \- the Album Leaf
  4. **“Lucky”** \- Radiohead
  5. **“And No More Shall We Part”** \- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
  6. **“All Is Full of Love”** \- Björk
  7. **“The Sweetest Thing”** \- Siouxsie and the Banshees
  8. **“I’ve Been Waiting for You”** \- David Bowie
  9. **“I Let Love In”** \- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
  10. **“And Then…”** \- Depeche Mode
  11. **“The Sky Lit Up”** \- PJ Harvey
  12. **“I Can’t”** \- Radiohead
  13. **“Walk Away”** \- the Sisters of Mercy
  14. **“Oh My Lover”** \- PJ Harvey
  15. **“I Will”** \- Radiohead
  16. **“Fade into You”** \- Mazzy Star
  17. **“I’ll Be Yours”** \- Placebo
  18. **“Sweetest Perfection”** \- Depeche Mode
  19. **“How Beautiful You Are”** \- the Cure
  20. **“The Prettiest Star”** \- David Bowie
  21. **“My Sweet Prince”** \- Placebo
  22. **“The Time Has Come”** \- the Dresden Dolls
  23. **“To Bring You My Love”** \- PJ Harvey
  24. **“You Could Be the One”** \- the Sisters of Mercy
  25. **“Marry Me”** \- St. Vincent



She watched him closely as he read it over, and she knew he’d reached the end by the look of utter surprise when the realisation struck, the way his lips parted just enough to let out a small, almost breathless, _“Oh.”_

Something in Anders snapped before her eyes, his own going from wide and alight to devoid in a split second, like she just watched all feeling leave him. She wondered if that was what she looked like when it happened to her, but that thought was only a quick flash and she was instantly able to push it away, to try to pull him back.

“Anders…love, are you—”

“I…”

He looked to the floor, awkwardly averting his gaze, and she felt hers drop to meet it.

The silence was overwhelming, no further thought from Anders anywhere to be found, so she nervously tried to reach him again.

“Love—”

He stepped back at that, and she thought she heard him curse under his breath. She wasn’t reaching him, couldn’t even figure out where he went, all of it so unfamiliar after so long that it scared her far more than she’d like to admit.

“Anders, what is it?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, I don’t…” He might have tried to look at her, it was difficult to tell. He was lost somewhere very deep inside himself and she could see that he was trying very hard to fight it, trying very hard to be there but he couldn’t seem to bring himself forward any better than she could. Instead, however, he turned on his heel and walked away.

She watched him leave, watched how stiff he looked, how far away he was regardless of distance. She heard the bedroom door close, not quite a slam but certainly not gently, either, and she genuinely didn’t know whether or not she should go after him.

“What the fuck just happened?” She asked herself aloud, a rough whisper through gritted teeth followed by a hard swallow and burning eyes.

She walked herself into the main room and then slowly—so very, carefully slowly—into the hallway, moving as softly as she could manage as she approached the bedroom, holding herself back and pushing herself ahead all at once.

She could hear him from the other side when she reached it, could hear how desperately he was trying to suppress his own sobs, how desperately he was trying to keep them quiet. He was talking to himself, too, but she couldn’t make it out, and so she forced herself to raise a shaking hand to knock on the door, not yet willing to do any more than that.

“Anders? Anders, love, please…”

Her voice was already cracking, and after only a few seconds with no reply she flattened her palm and slapped it against the door, not even noticing until she had done so.

“Anders, what…what did I do?”

She stepped back from the door when he did not answer once again. He was speaking more and more rapidly, she could hear that much, but she still didn’t know what he was saying.

“Love, please, tell me what I did so I can—tell me how to fix this, I—”

Her eyes started to water as she took another step backwards, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so vulnerable.

Except that was a complete lie, and as that washed over her everything began to make sense. Her thoughts swiftly raced back to that first time she’d ever told him she loved him, that accidental confession she couldn’t regret if she wanted to, even then as her mind began to run away with her, with the scene before her and all that it certainly had to mean.

“Anders,” she spoke up again after an indeterminate amount of time. “Anders, I’m…I’m so sorry, love, I…I’m, umm, going outside. I’ll be outside. Come find me outside if you…if you…”

She turned and made her way back into the kitchen in the blink of an eye, hardly realising she’d grabbed her jacket and her purse from the main room on the way, and she swiftly exited through the window and sat down so harshly it was almost like falling, hitting the fire escape landing so hard she felt the whole thing shake beneath her.

She could have kicked herself, thinking about how hard for him every single element of their relationship had been when she knew damn well there was a reason why. She wondered if she should have waited for Anders to make such a move, for Anders to decide on his own whether or not he might be ready, to decide on his own that he could, that it was okay. She countered herself with the thought that if she did, perhaps it would never have happened. What hurt even more was realising she was perfectly fine with that, that she didn’t know why she’d felt the need to do this to start with, that she could have gone on without ever bringing any of this up and done so quite contentedly. She did want it on her own, yes, there was a reason her friends’ words of encouragement had been able to land as hard as they did, but she knew she didn’t need it. She didn’t care about symbols or ceremony enough at the end of the day, neither did she even care about the obvious circumstance that Karl’s lingering ghost might keep them away. She didn’t fault Anders, had always understood, had never even really had to adjust. They both had their baggage, of course; they both had their histories and losses, their difficulties that so often felt insurmountable. She knew this well and she managed it, supported it, worked to pry it open on his end as best she could. She didn’t fault Anders, couldn’t possibly hold any of it against him, knew how hard it had to be for him and longed to have gotten through to him all that much more for it in that moment.

She didn’t fault Anders, not at all. No, she hated herself for getting swept away in some fantastical ideal, and for being so damn proud of her stupid, clever idea that she didn’t even consider just how spectacularly it could backfire.

Her hands were still shaking but she figured out her jacket, her cigarettes, and her lighter in spite of them, although she wasn’t sure how.

She pulled out her phone and anxiously fiddled with it in her hand, wanting something to distract her from her own head, to keep her from retreating as Anders had just done, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything with it.

Until, of course, right on time, it began to vibrate.

At first glance she almost decided not to answer it, the string of numbers on the screen indicating that the caller was not in her contacts, which typically made for an easy assumption that such a caller was not someone she actually wanted to speak to. But she recognised the phone number as being Fereldan just before she was about to hit “ignore,” the catch guiding her thumb to answer seemingly of its own will.

“H—hello?”

Her voice was still as shaky as her hands, already rough and hoarse from keeping her emotions down as best she could, from the strain of it that made her feel like her head was going to burst.

“Hey, it’s Elissa!” Just as Hawke suspected. “Zev gave me your number, said they got it from Isabela—I hope that’s okay, but…well…did you—”

“Yeah,” she interrupted, sounding unnervingly hollow.

“And how did it…ah fuck, that well, huh?” Elissa must have heard it in just that one word, it must have been as obvious as she feared.

Hawke took in a long drag of her cigarette, taking in the burn in her throat and closing her eyes into the silence, unsure what to say, certain there were no words that would fill the void.

“Trista, what ha—”

“I don’t know,” she started, the words reluctant to leave her. She bit down hard on her lip, as hard as she could to give her at least something, just something to sting for that second. She let go, took her cigarette back in, and she saw the slightest specks of blood on the filter when she let it out. “Elissa, I’m sorry, I think I fucked it all up…”

“No, I’m sure you—”

“Oh fuck, should I call Aveline?” Hawke mused aloud, not really asking Elissa at all, making it that much more obvious she was only talking to herself, although pleased that Elissa would be the only person who’d ever know. “I don’t know, _do I_ need a place to sleep? _Does he_ even want me here? But should I stay, anyway? Or should I go, anyway? Shit, shit, shit, shit, shi—”

 _“Trista!”_ Elissa’s shout caused Hawke to jump a little. That maternal side Anders always talked about was showing, very much akin to Aveline. Elissa loved Anders so much, though, and Hawke could not imagine this would not reflect poorly on her. Clearly it was her fault and if there was anyone in all of Thedas who would have to be able to see that, surely it was Elissa.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Hawke was crying, having held it in impressively long as far as she was concerned, although she was definitely continuing to hold back as best she could for the sake of Elissa’s ears.

“No,” Elissa replied. “No, stop, it’s not…I’m sure that whatever happened, there’s a story behind it that has nothing to do with you, alright? We both know him, you know I’m right.”

“Y—yeah, you are,” Hawke acknowledged.

“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Elissa said softly. “Listen, first of all, _you_ live there, too. If you want to give him space, then give him space, but don’t leave. That’s your home just as much as his, and I can’t help but think that if you do go, that’s only going to make things worse.”

“Right again,” Hawke choked with a failed smile.

“Maker, Trista, I’m so sorry,” Elissa added sadly. “I’m so fucking sorry, shit, I know I was too excitable and I hope I haven’t caused—”

“No, don’t _you_ start, too,” Hawke chuckled. It was forced and she was sure Elissa could tell, but at least she managed it. “I mean, I wanted to do it—probably more than I should have, let’s be real. It wasn’t you, don’t worry…”

She had so many thoughts, her mind racing at a million miles per minute, so many that contradicted each other, that felt like they downright contradicted her.

Did she really care? She thought she did, thought she didn’t, thought she did again…she wondered again if the fucked up chemicals in her head had anything to do with it. She had no doubt Anders’s played a part in his response, and she couldn’t help but consider where hers came into starting all this in the first place.

She was sucking down her cigarette, long drags with short exhales, swallowing down the smoke, holding it in when she didn’t need to speak. She didn’t know if this should even hit her so hard, still had to believe that after everything else they had already been through together in such a short amount of time, there was no possible way this, of all things, could turn out to be the one they couldn’t get past.

“How do I fix this?” She practically whimpered through the exhale of a freshly lit cigarette, the words burning through her throat after how roughly she’d taken it in, how long she’d held it, how much she simply wanted it to hurt.

“Fuck,” Elissa sighed, her usually perkiness entirely disappeared. “I know it will be fixed, Trista, I have no doubt about that, but I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I can’t tell you how…”

“You’re too optimistic,” Hawke teased for the second time that day, once again forcing out something of a laugh, the best she could, still holding back just enough of what was really threatening to come forward.

“I try to think of myself as a realist,” Elissa chuckled, and Hawke cringed at how forced hers sounded, as well. “Or…fuck, I don’t know. I guess after your parents are murdered in front of you and you barely escape with your life, only to go on to risk it every day fighting through the subsequent war and witnessing all the atrocities that comes with, sometimes you just learn to try to see the best in things so you don’t lose your mind completely.”

“Fuck, Elissa, I—”

“No, sorry, this isn’t about me, I’m sorry…”

She had spoken it so quickly, a tone and a pace Hawke recognised very well, teeming with subtext of “I didn’t mean to say that out loud” and “I probably need to actually get these feelings out every once in a while.” The way she meshed so well among their group made more and more sense by the minute, it seemed.

“Elissa, I…”

She started to speak, started simply to try to form a following thought, but nothing came. She inhaled smoke, exhaled into a small cloud that wafted away into the wind, keeping her eyes set on it as much as she was able.

“It’s okay,” Elissa said gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, and please don’t tell any—”

“Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.”

They said polite goodbyes, as it was clear by then that neither had anything left to offer and Hawke was too emotionally drained to get anywhere even if they did, and she made a point to add Elissa to her contacts while she finished her cigarette, and she fought herself every step of the way as she went back inside instead of immediately lighting another.

She set down her bag by the couch and walked towards the bedroom. She knew exactly what was going to happen but she also knew she had to make the effort, even if for no other reason than to make sure Anders knew she wanted to.

“Anders?” She knocked lightly on the door, wary of startling him or even just coming off as even the tiniest bit aggressive. She wasn’t angry and she wanted to convey that if she could. Surely he’d understand her being upset and she knew the sound of her voice made how upset she was impossible to hide, but she was desperate to be cautious about how it was portrayed. “Anders, I…I love you, and I’m sorry if I was out of line, I just…I love you. I’ll be out here if you want—if you need me. I love you.”

She stepped back after a couple of seconds when there was no response, and she decided not to push any further. She didn’t know if that was actually a good idea or not, but she was at a total loss, so she made her way back into the main room, entirely exhausted, having absolutely nothing left in her.

She curled up on the couch, unsure what else to do. She had a thought, a thought that made her feel every bit as much worse as it did better, so she picked up her phone and turned the volume down low once she pulled up the YouTube app. She quickly typed “velvet goldmine gimme danger” into the search bar and immediately found what she was looking for.

_“Oh gimme danger, little stranger, and I’ll feel you bleed…”_

She was, of course, also a fan of the Stooges’ original version of the song, but there was something about this particular performance, about the way Ewan McGregor as Curt Wild shouted and writhed in such purely raw emotion. That scene had always hit a nerve, always hurt in ways she couldn’t describe, although it had always made sense all the same given how much passion there was, how immersive that made it.

_“Oh gimme danger, little stranger, and I’ll heal your disease…”_

It wasn’t only the power of the portrayal, it wasn’t only the way the words burned into her just then, but it was also because it was something so very theirs, because it was from the film that had practically laid the foundation for getting them this far. It was theirs and that fucking hurt so much more for it.

She heard Pounce jingle into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure where he’d been previously but she was grateful he was nearby.

_“Well, if you will be my lover, I will shiver and sing, but if you won’t be my master, I will do anything…”_

She breathed in and then out, in and then out.

_“There’s nothing left alive but some dark glassy eyes, erase my feelings one more time…”_

She couldn’t help but wonder about the relevance of her illness. Her mind wandered back to that idea, her brain doling out her best recollection of precise definitions to bipolar and borderline personality disorders, to the fact of how dangerously they can exacerbate each other in someone with both.

_“Come on, little danger, die a little stranger, swear you’re gonna feel my hell, come on, little danger, die a little later, swear you’re gonna feel my hell…”_

That had to have something to do with her need to act, with how much emotion she put into it, how greatly it consumed her once the possibility felt real and not just her own personal fantasy. The intensity of the feeling, how impulsive it seemed to do it so soon...

_“Gimme danger, little stranger, gimme danger, little stranger, every day, can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it, I gotta feel it, I gotta feel it, I gotta feel it, you gotta feel it, I gotta feel it, I wanna feel it, I wanna fucking feel it…”_

That had to be it, at least in part. She wouldn’t let herself shirk responsibility, neither would she indulge the thought to the extent that it might taint the true and absolutely genuine nature of what she had wanted to do, what precisely that meant in terms of how greatly she felt about Anders. She couldn’t stop herself from taking it into consideration, though, and from chastising herself for not having done so earlier.

She closed her eyes and bit down hard on her bottom lip, holding herself in close, hating herself for how much she was letting this take her over so completely, and how willing she was to succumb to it.

_“Oh gimme danger, little stranger, and I’ll feel you bleed, oh gimme danger, little stranger, and I’ll heal your disease…”_

She wrapped an arm around her knees, held tight against her chest, and set her phone down in front of her, making a point to keep it within arm’s reach so she could replay the video again and again until she fell asleep, if she could fall asleep.

_“There’s nothing in my dreams…”_

She only hoped she would fall asleep at all.

_“Come on, little danger, die a little stranger, swear you’re gonna feel my hell, come on, little danger, die a little later, swear you’re gonna feel my hell…”_

As the scene replayed and the song repeated and everything she’d held back began to start pouring out completely, which led to Pounce jumping up onto the couch to curl up beside her and offer soothing purrs and nuzzles, she felt the exhaustion quickly rise to take her.

_“I gotta feel it, I wanna feel it, I wanna fucking feel it…”_

At least she could have that. At least there was the hope of maybe getting some sleep, the hope that she wouldn’t have to feel it for perhaps a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, this has officially been up for _a year._ Wow, that's weird. Wow, that's cool.
> 
> So, [this](http://littlexabyss.tumblr.com/post/150519345789/defenestration-committee-thecommonchick-omg) is where the playlist proposal idea came from. I couldn't get it out of my head once I saw that post and I really did not think there was any way in hell I was going to be able to pull it off, but _I fucking did it._ And further kudos to [little_abyss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss) for predicting which one of these nerds was actually going to make the playlist when I told them I was really doing it, haha.
> 
> And thanks as always, of course, to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for being my partner in crime, for being the beta to this noise, for constantly listening to me scream, and even just purely for the fact that _entirely because of this fic_ I connected with this amazing human who very quickly became one of my best friends, and really, how fucking awesome is that?!
> 
> Feel free to follow all my trash yelling on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), too.


	69. Much Too Hard, Much Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: ongoing breakdown, alcohol abuse, referenced suicide attempt
> 
> Just a very tense chapter?
> 
> ["Dizzy" by Orgy](https://youtu.be/1WYmzcBPDP8)   
>  ["Optimistic" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/OzuzQTDUXpA)   
>  ["Flowers of Romance" by Public Image Ltd.](https://youtu.be/jBaQOdsTAKo)   
>  ["Swan Dive" by Ani DiFranco](https://youtu.be/wxOo31rIq_U)   
>  ["Sulk" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/0E-OxDsFa0o)

“Fine, don’t talk about it, see if I care,” Varric sighed Saturday evening as he slid an ashtray across his coffee table towards Hawke, who was wearily resting her elbows over it and holding her head in her hands simply trying to keep it upright from her seat on the floor.

She had slept like absolute shit the past two nights, and she and Anders had not said a single word to each other in that time.

Varric cleared his throat loudly and tapped on the ashtray, and it still didn’t get her attention.

“Okay, Hawke…fuck, please talk to me…”

“No,” was all she said, but she did make herself move to pull out a cigarette, and Varric’s face was not one she could ever have pictured following such an action, his relief over her accomplishing only that much piercing through her.

“Blondie still coming tonight?”

So he had his suspicions, which she knew she should have anticipated, but that didn’t make her any less miserable about it.

She didn’t know why she’d gone to Varric’s, aside from needing to go somewhere. She promised herself she’d try to act normal, that she would go to the Hanged Man as usual and do her best to be inconspicuous, but she wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to go to Varric’s ahead of time.

Her only answer to the question came in the form of a shrug, which was not a lie. She had no idea if Anders was going to show or not. Elissa would be there, that much had been made into an explicit certainty, and Hawke guessed she would be dragging Anders kicking and screaming if she needed to, but she couldn’t really tell.

Elissa was still the only person who knew anything at all about what happened, even keeping all talk away from Lirene in the shop the previous day. She had promised to keep it to herself and Hawke trusted that she would. Hawke herself, of course, had definitely not breathed a word to anyone, and she had a hard time picturing Anders doing so, either. In fact, she wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all to anyone aside from patients.

He couldn’t even seem to look at her, although she suspected there was a large part of him that was too embarrassed to do so by that point, that he averted his gaze more from shame than anything she had actually done. They just needed to talk about it, but she had yet to be able to bring herself to make the first move. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to make any first move again as long as she lived.

That’s why she went to Varric’s. He’d worry and he’d pry, but he wouldn’t grill her. He would let her play it off, which Aveline would never let her get away with in a million years. She wasn’t sure if anyone else would, but she realised the thought had never even occurred to her to turn to any of the friends she knew because of Anders. She worried she was regressing to an extent that was disproportionate to the situation, and she was unreasonably grateful that Varric wouldn’t call her out on it, at least not yet.

“So,” she started after finally lighting a cigarette. “I haven’t had a chance to ask—how pissed are you that Fenris gets to play best man?”

It was the first thing that came to mind, and she despised it the moment she said it out loud. She probably, to some extent, chose the subject on purpose. Because that’s just the kind of person she was.

“Not really,” Varric chuckled. “I guess they’re going all traditional…hmm, I wonder what _his_ family’s like…so it wasn’t Red’s call and Broody was always going to be Donnic’s pick, the fucking nerds.”

“I’ve never known you to be such a gracious loser,” she made herself laugh. “Well done. Keep being an adult like this and maybe your height will start to catch up!”

“Fuck you,” he chuckled.

“You love me, though.”

“Yeah, yeah…what time is it?”

She reached for her bag, which wasn’t even an arm’s length away, yet somehow her search for it ended up with her lying flat on her back on the floor propping an arm up onto the table so she could still get to the ashtray, even if she wasn’t even bothering to look to ensure she really was making it, and that was all she seemed to have the energy left to do.

“Hawke, seriously, what the fuck is—”

“Huh, only ten minutes ‘til it starts,” she interrupted and put her phone down on her chest. “So I guess we could head out whenever. Oh, but I did just lay down…”

“Hawke—”

 _“Varric,”_ she sighed and prepared for the most honesty she was going to give him, which felt terribly daunting for how little it truly was. “It’s me, okay? You know how I get and what my brain does and all that noise, yeah? It’s a low point, alright, that _happens._ You know I love you and I appreciate the concern, but I swear by the Maker that I will put this out right on your fucking face if you don’t let it go right now.”

She punctuated the thought with a long drag for extra emphasis on the subject of her empty threat, and Varric shook his head but his compliance was clear.

“Fine, fine, just…well, you know.”

“I know.”

They spent the next several minutes sitting and smoking and otherwise completely silent before deciding to make their way downstairs upon putting out their cigarettes, and she had to force herself even more than she’d expected every step of the way.

_“You’re just another pretty face in a room full of whores, no you don’t mean much, used to be so naïve, catatonic now, you seem to be so much better than before…”_

They were greeted by the perfect song playing from the jukebox, and Hawke would have outright cackled if she hadn’t been working so hard to act casual, and even then she barely held it back.

“Dammit, Fenris,” she muttered to herself under her breath in recognition over whose taste in music this was.

_“Dumb, dumb, dizzy, dizzy, dumb, dumb, dizzy, dizzy, dumb, dumb…”_

It should not have felt nearly so personal.

_“Now you’ve made a mess of yourself, you’ve made a mess of everything, you’re a mess, a fucking mess, now you’ve made a mess of yourself, you’ve made a mess of everything, you’re a mess, a fucking mess…”_

Fortunately the song was cut off by Isabela’s introductions just as Hawke and Varric sat down with the rest of the group, with one notable absence.

“Anders isn’t with you?” Aveline asked before Hawke could even finish pushing in her chair, and she noticed Varric turn to squint suspiciously at her.

“I was over at Varric’s,” she shrugged, and Aveline’s face quickly changed into a perfect match for his. “What? I can’t spend a little extra time with my best friend? Come on, I’m sure he’ll be here…”

“He will, don’t worry,” Elissa assured. She looked almost as drained as Hawke felt, but she spoke with a wide smile, hardly the adequate mask it was so obviously intended to be.

Hawke’s eyes wandered over to the bar looking for Norah, already in need of a drink. That’s where Carver was, though, keeping Norah distracted by chatting her up. She knew eyes would inevitably close tightly in on her in that regard, and Varric’s especially heavily even though they hadn’t properly gotten started yet, and she knew how difficult that was going to make things. She saw that coming well enough, though. Enough, in fact, to have prepared accordingly by stuffing a flask full of whiskey into her purse before leaving home. That would only take her so far, but it would get her farther than her friends would allow if she’d left it up to them entirely. But she was ready and wasted no time in trying to calculate how many “bathroom breaks” she could take before anyone would catch on.

Elissa awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, a gesture that felt almost maternal, when Isabela called her name and she stood to walk to the booth.

Hawke lit a cigarette, still glancing back and forth between the bar and her own hands, not wanting to tap into her terribly finite private stash any sooner than necessary.

“Everything alright, Hawke?” Merrill asked once the music started, and she made her best effort to mimic Elissa’s poor deception in response.

“Yeah, just tired,” she said. To be fair, it was true.

She sounded numb. She wished it were that easy.

“Do you have any possible idea _when_ Anders might be here?” Zevran asked nervously, looking up and down between Hawke and Elissa, and they seemed painfully on-edge when Hawke shook her head. “Sorry, I…I just think I might need to have a chat with him, about…well, things he would be the person to talk to about them. Due to, you know, the, ah, _specifics_ of the matter.”

_“Flies are buzzing ‘round my head, vultures circling the dead, picking up every last crumb…”_

“Are you okay?” Fenris asked, and Zevran only shook their head.

_“The big fish eat the little ones, the big fish eat the little ones, not my problem, give me some…”_

“I am worried about Elissa,” they admitted. “Please, please do not tell her I said anything, but I know she isn’t doing well, I _know_ that something is bothering her, but she refuses to talk about it. I figure, though, that if there is anyone who might be able to get her to open up, well…”

_“You can try the best you can, you can try the best you can, the best you can is good enough, if you try the best you can, if you try the best you can, the best you can is good enough…”_

Hawke focused heavily on Elissa’s voice, all too aware of the fact that the song had been chosen for her, or at least because of her, whether Elissa realised it or not. She wasn’t going to say anything if Elissa didn’t, but she didn’t think either of them would have to.

It was clear she was beating herself up about what happened, too, but Hawke could not stomach the idea that this alone was enough to draw such concern from Zevran. She hated hoping that it was worse for Elissa than it seemed, hated how selfish and downright callous that thought made her feel, but she couldn’t stop it.

She really needed a drink.

_“This one’s optimistic, this one went to market, this one just came out of the swamp…”_

It had, however, been clear to her from day one that there was more to Elissa than she let on, that her perky demeanor was largely an act, even if it was one she believed, herself. Hawke could see through the façade to a point, although she was still very far from having her figured out. She figured that broken recognised broken, though, and Elissa was definitely broken in her own right.

Hawke noticed that Varric was squinting at her again, that he was slowly but surely putting pieces together, although she suspected he was yet the only one to do so, and that was fine by her as long as it stayed that way.

_“This one dropped a payload, fodder for the animals, living on animal farm…”_

“Singing, Hawke?” Varric asked her as he put down a pen, ready to take up his slip to Isabela.

“Oh yeah, sure, just a second…”

_“You can try the best you can, you can try the best you can, the best you can is good enough…”_

She picked one up, as well, shifting her cigarette to her left hand so she could grab a pen, jotting down the first thing that came to mind without even consulting her options and then passing it to Varric with a strained, “Thanks.”

_“If you try the best you can, if you try the best you can, the best you can is good enough, oh…”_

She regretted her choice as soon as Varric walked away, but she didn’t care enough to stop him. She switched hands again, taking her time with her cigarette, attaching herself to it, grounding herself.

She couldn’t justify this response, couldn’t shake how childish it made her feel, but that didn’t make her reaction any less real.

Anders would say something about her feelings being valid, about not judging herself for them. If only Anders would fucking talk to her. If only she weren’t just as guilty.

“By the way, Hawke,” Aveline started out of nowhere, and Hawke could see on her face that she simply wanted to engage her, that she wasn’t going to let her off the hook even if she didn’t yet really know what was going on. Aveline could read Hawke like a book when she was like this, of course, and it was a guarantee she wouldn’t be far behind Varric in terms of starting to put it together, with his only advantage in this instance being that she had gone to his apartment and he had therefore seen more of than Aveline. “We need to start looking at dresses for you. Fuck knows Harvestmere will be here before we know it.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Hawke answered flatly, yet trying so hard to fake it. “You know, you still haven’t told me your colours.”

“Copper and gold,” Donnic replied, a warm smile on his lips.

“Gross,” Varric remarked as he sat back down, while Merrill practically squealed in delight.

“That’s so cute,” she said loudly, and Aveline’s face lit up.

“His idea,” she grinned, and Merrill looked absolutely thrilled.

_“I’d really like to help you, man, I’d really like to help you, man…”_

Hawke tried to smile, too, but she was sure she didn’t make it. She noticed her cigarette was dead, so she swiftly lit another.

_“Nervous, messed up marionettes floating around on a prison ship…”_

“I am missing something of significance, no?” Zevran noted, and Varric quickly cut in to tell them the copper marigold story.

“Hey, where’s Anders?” Carver asked once Varric finished recounting the short tale, having finally sat down to join them just as he had started.

“Seems that’s the million sovereign question,” Varric sighed sarcastically.

“Seriously, though, Hawke, is he okay?” Fenris asked sincerely. “It’s not like him to run this late and I know how, umm, _things_ can get…”

She appreciated Fenris’s asking, especially his asking the way he did, but she had no idea how to answer. She didn’t want to lie, at least not so blatantly, but she’d be damned if she was about to answer honestly.

“Mhm,” she decided on lying. It made her feel a little better to do it without the use of real words, though, for as silly and even as inconsiderate as she knew it was.

She was just happy Carver’s arrival meant Norah would be free.

Elissa returned right as Norah approached, and everyone taking the time to tease her for the delay gave Hawke an extra few moments to compose herself and try to order without turning too many heads.

“Long Island,” she requested quietly, intentionally monotoned, and Varric making a small fuss about being called for his turn when he’d just sat back down seemed to serve as enough of a distraction for anyone to really have been paying too much attention to the detail of Hawke’s inflection, or lack thereof.

_“Now in the summer, I could be happy or in distress, depending on the company, on the veranda, talk of the future or reminisce…”_

Aveline still took a second to glower at her, though, as she should have expected, so she simply shrugged and told her, “Hey, it’s been a while and they taste good.”

She said it convincingly enough, it seemed, which was helped by her statement being entirely true regardless of context, so Aveline held off on pushing her.

Hawke felt another pang of guilt, too, when she realised Elissa’s return after Zevran’s comment meant they were sharing stares, meant that at least some eyes were moving off of her.

_“Behind the dialogue we’re in a mess, whatever I intended, I sent you flowers, you wanted chocolates instead, the flowers of romance…”_

“Why must you fuckers keep doing this to me?” Isabela asked abruptly, laughing as she did.

“What’s that?” Merrill reacted immediately, and Isabela answered her specifically by kissing her on the head and then running fingers briefly through her hair.

 _“You_ didn’t do anything, Kitten. You’ve done nothing wrong ever in your life, and I love you.”

Isabela winked at Hawke at the Parks and Rec reference, and at the fact that no reaction from Aveline or Donnic implied they had still not started watching, and it seemed a safe assumption that they would continue to pay for that later.

“Are you ready to put one in, though, Kitten?” Isabela asked. “Or you, Carver? Zev? Hawke put in another fucking Radiohead song and I’d like to stretch them out a little better if I—hey, wait, where the fuck is Anders?”

_“I’ve got binoculars on top of box hill, I could be Nero, fly the eagle, start all over again…”_

“On his way,” Elissa answered swiftly, much to Hawke’s relief.

“Oh good,” Isabela smiled. “I knew it seemed empty over here. Well, _please_ someone let him know to pick a different fucking band whenever he gets here, alright? Anyone else?”

“I can go,” Merrill offered. “I mean, if you don’t mind, Hawke…”

“I don’t.”

“She doesn’t.”

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh after she and Isabela responded at the same time, and as Varric finished the two of them left the table together.

She really didn’t mind, though. It gave her time to drink, although she had to admit that she did hope to get it out of the way before Anders got there. Although she wasn’t sure she actually believed that was going to happen.

Thankfully, Norah reappeared a moment later, and Hawke took a second to remind herself to be careful, not to draw attention to herself, that she still had the liquor in her bag to make it better.

She really, truly despised how poorly she was handling things.

_“I’m cradling the softest, warmest part of you in my hands, feels like a baby bird fallen from the nest, I think that your body is something I understand…”_

She hated, too, how much she was letting everything around her punch her in the gut like this.

Cigarette, drink, cigarette, drink, the same rhythm she had the last time they were there, although the moods were remarkably different.

_“I think that I’m happy, I think that I’m blessed, but I’ve had a lack of inhibition, I’ve had a loss of perspective, I’ve had a little bit to drink and it’s making me think that I can jump ship and swim, that the ocean will hold me…”_

She was glad her tolerance had dropped so drastically over the past several months, and that coupled with the sheer exhaustion of the past few days, it allowed the drink to hit her like it never would have the last time she drank with this mindset, so aggressively—however, she hoped, surreptitiously—to use it as a means to crawl outside her skin.

_“That there’s got to be more than this boat I’m in, they can call me crazy if I fall, all the chance I need is one-in-a-million and they can call me brilliant if I succeed, gravity is nothing to me, I’m moving at the speed of sound, I’m just gonna get my feet wet until I drown, I teeter between tired and really, really tired, I’m wiped out and I’m wired but I guess that’s just as well…”_

She was crushing a filter into an ashtray before she knew it, and she decided to take the opportunity, noting how little of her Long Island she’d risked consuming thus far.

She picked up her purse and said something about needing to use the bathroom, and then she stood up and made her way to it.

She locked herself in a stall and took a long drink, made a face over the burn like she never used to make. She didn’t want to dawdle but she didn’t want to return too quickly, either. She was already rather tipsy and wasn’t sure how well she could even gauge the time. She screwed the cap back onto her flask, stuffed it back down towards the bottom of her bag, and counted to 60 before she flushed the toilet for good measure and exited.

She stopped by the sinks and rinsed off her hands just to keep up appearances if need be, and she was extremely pleased that Merrill was still singing when she crossed back through the door.

_“I’ve got better things to do than survive, I’ve got the memory of your warm skin in my hands and I’ve got a vision of blue sky and warm land, I’m cradling the hardest, heaviest parts of me in my hands…”_

“Hey,” Elissa whispered to her when she sat back down, and she shook her head, not sure what kind of answer that was or what she even wanted it to convey. She wasn’t sure it mattered.

She didn’t light a cigarette, knowing she didn’t have that much time, instead fiddling with the ring on her right hand, the one Anders had given her for Satinalia, taking a drink to keep herself from laughing at the memory of his preface at the time.

_“A little bird told me that jumping is easy, and falling is fun right up until you hit the sidewalk, shivering and stunned…”_

It was always funny how often music could be interpreted, could be warped any which way with ease to make one feel like they were hearing themselves in a song. Merrill’s choice, though, seemed just too appropriate for Hawke’s state of mind to be unintentional, even though she knew absolutely that it was, and somehow with that thought a substantial portion of her drink disappeared.

She noticed Carver get up to add himself to the queue, and Merrill followed him back as Hawke was beckoned to the stand. She was glad she could feel her head start to swim, however slightly. She always sang better like this.

_“You bite through the big wall, the big wall bites back, you sit there and sulk, sit there and bawl…”_

The words hit her. They were the words she had already known were there, the words she had specifically chosen the song for, yet that did not alter the course of impact, neither did how hard she had to focus on those words with such high alcohol content effortlessly creeping up against her depleted tolerance and sleep deprivation.

_“You are so pretty when you’re on your knees, disinfected, eager to please…”_

From the corner of her eye she noticed Isabela paying close attention to various knobs and controls along the hefty, intricate sound board that sat beneath her personal monitor, and Hawke only realised how very loud she had been once Isabela had her volume noticeably turned down.

_“Sometimes you sulk, sometimes you burn, god rest your soul when the loving comes and we’ve already gone…”_

She didn’t know how she didn’t slip, how she didn’t stumble over the words or even over herself when her gaze was caught by Elissa bolting across the tavern and over to the front door to greet Anders as he walked in.

She really had stopped believing he was even coming, and his timing was impeccably hilarious.

_“Just like your dad, you’ll never change…”_

Except that she didn’t say “your dad” as the lyrics display told her to, as she knew to be the correct line in the song. She said “my,” and it was because Anders had just come in. She only prayed no one would notice. She was sure at least someone would.

_“Each time it comes, it eats me alive, I try to behave but it eats me alive, fall asleep, drift away…”_

She saw Anders sit down, saw how everyone, unsurprisingly, turned their attention to him, and then she couldn’t look anymore. She was still below the threshold for what she would call properly drunk, and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, not yet.

She hated herself so fucking much for how she was handling this.

_“Sometimes you sulk, sometimes you burn, god rest your soul when the loving comes and we’ve already gone, just like your dad…”_

She did it again, she realised it as the word passed through her lips. She wasn’t handling this.

_“You’ll never change…”_

She did not sit back down once she and Carver swapped places but instead picked up her purse again and walked straight back to the bathroom without a word.

She opened up her flask and took another swig, not even bothering to hide away that time. She realised she should lock the door to the whole room if she was going to play it that way, if she wasn’t going to trap herself inside a smaller enclosure and risk the feeling of suffocation she felt looming. After all, Varric had done as he’d vowed to do and made the Hanged Man’s bathrooms gender-neutral after he took ownership, so she wasn’t keeping out anyone who couldn’t reasonably just use the other one the tavern had. She fished through her bag and found a pack of cigarettes she hadn’t opened yet, thankful she always kept more than one lighter on her.

She lit one up and moved to the door, but Elissa stopped her.

“What the fuck?” She asked the surprise presence, slightly shaken by how it had startled her, further taken aback by Elissa locking the door herself after she forced her way in.

“What the fuck, yourself?” Elissa snapped, but she instantly slinked back from her own outburst, apologies flowing from her like water.

She could hear that Carver was singing but it was too muffled to make out what. She could apologise later. She could apologise for a lot of things later.

“It’s fine, it’s…fuck,” Hawke sighed as she sat down by a sink. It was the same one Anders had held her over the last time they were there, and she laughed mirthlessly to herself at the memory, stopping only when the memory of Zevran’s recent concern about Elissa’s well-being presented itself alongside. “It’s fine.”

“My ass,” Elissa replied calmly, clearly desperate in how hard she was working to maintain composure. At least she was trying. It was far more than Hawke could say.

She mindlessly toyed with the cap of her flask, unable to even have the decency to feel embarrassed about being caught, so casual in her ennui with the way she rested into the mirror behind her with her head tilted backwards against it, her left side hanging from her body as though disconnected, only that hand appearing to work at all, the one that fidgeted with the flask. Her right side at least maintained a purpose, wherein her leg was angled just so that it would hold up her right arm, that hand loosely clinging to a cigarette, its ashes falling to the floor.

“Maker,” Elissa started again, leaning against the door and holding her own hands. “Listen, I know I haven't known you that long and I can’t possibly know you that well, but… _fuck._ I love Anders, you know I love him like family and I am _so fucking sorry_ for my part in all this but honestly—”

“Honestly _what?”_ Hawke didn’t mean to shout. She really didn’t. “Honestly, you’re sure everything will be okay? That it’ll all work out into some happily ever after still? Fuck knows I hope, but…”

“No, Trista,” Elissa answered softly, tentatively moving in closer. “I mean, yes, I do still believe that, but…but honestly it’s a little bit _terrifying_ that this is having, well, _this_ kind of effect, I mean…oh fuck, I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but—”

“But what, you can’t imagine getting so fucking hung up over a boy, is that it?” Hawke really did not mean to be taking this out on Elissa as she was. She knew Elissa meant well, that she cared and that she only wanted those she cared about to be happy. She knew Elissa had only been trying to help before and was only trying to help once again. She felt awful that things had worked out like this, that they were going the way they were going and that Elissa obviously blamed herself for the circumstance, and she knew she did not deserve to be spoken to the way she was speaking to her.

“Trista, I—”

She looked so dejected, so forlorn that it broke Hawke to see.

She was only trying to help, that’s all. She only wanted to help, and when Hawke looked into her eyes before her own crashed down on her, when the gates opened and everything inside her came pouring out, she understood.

Elissa helped because it was all she knew how to do. She put her whole self into other people, put everyone else’s problems, everyone else’s very lives above her own because that was how she coped.

Hawke might have been just drunk enough to be able to suddenly see that so clearly.

“Listen,” she said more steadily, trying to collect herself, not to lash out. “Listen, it’s just that Anders met me at a _very_ strange time in my life—Maker, okay, now we’re quoting Fight Club, good start… _anyway,_ it’s true, though, that really _is_ the best way to phrase it. I’d just lost my sister and shit hit the fan and basically my whole life just kind of imploded and when it all turned upside down, well…Anders pulled me out of the wreckage, and he’s done it _so many fucking times_ in just the time that I’ve known him and…fuck, he’s just been such a fucking life-saver.”

Her eyes were hot and it was difficult to see, far moreso than it had been when it was only the booze affecting her, but she was pretty sure her words had come out clearly enough, and by then she would take what she could get.

Elissa looked like she wanted to say something, offer comfort and reassurance of some sort, but she couldn’t seem to find whatever words she might have been looking for.

“Literally,” Hawke started again after a moment, and her tone was cold, unnerving it its lack of inflection against the strained enunciation of simply trying to make sure she’d be understood in her state. “Elissa, he _literally_ saved my life some months back. I tried to…well, I did a thing that was very hurtful to a lot of people and there’s only one doctor in the whole of fucking Thedas that any of us trust, so…”

“I’m sorry,” Elissa uttered quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Hawke said softly, trying to force some warmth into her words. “I know, but there it is. I’ve never told him this…I don’t think I’ve told _anyone_ this, but…I was so angry. I was so fucking angry that he had to do it, that he had to take me in and do whatever it even is that he did to keep me here. I guess I’ll never really know for certain if it actually would’ve worked or not without him, anyway, but he was easy to blame. He wasn’t even mad at me, Elissa. He was upset, sure; it caused him a lot of pain and he didn’t keep that from me. But he fucking forgave me for it when I couldn’t even forgive him for not wanting me to go. For a while it was so hard not to think about it, so hard not to…I don’t know, ‘regret’ isn’t quite the right word, but… _fuck,_ Elissa. I grew not to hate it. I started to think that maybe, just _maybe_ it was worth something. And I know it sounds so fucking stupid to question that _now,_ over _this,_ but…I guess it’s just the little things, too, you know? He just _gets me_ in ways no one else ever has. When I’m with him, I feel…like a fucking person. Like I’m not just some bundle of bad decisions and future regrets. It’s so fucked up how things can seem so _normal_ with him sometimes. You’re the one who talked about not knowing things can be like this and what a big deal that is, Elissa. It’s a big deal. It’s a big fucking deal no matter how much I really wish it weren’t right now.”

It had been a while since she’d laid her heart out on her sleeve like that. She supposed she was past due, since that was apparently a thing that had come to happen in her life.

“You still haven’t talked to him at all?” Elissa asked shyly, and Hawke could tell she knew the answer but she shook her head, anyway.

“Please.” Elissa’s voice cracked and she swallowed hard. Zevran was definitely right, she really did need to talk to Anders, herself. “Maker, Trista, please…he’s here, he did come, like I knew he would. Just come out and talk to him. Please.”

She was no longer spinning quite like she had been, but she was absolutely feeling the liquor heavily. It seemed like a bad idea to her to approach the conversation as she was, but she also worried that without the aid of liquid courage she might find herself getting comfortable in this limbo, letting herself slip into permanent residence inside this chasm of fear and doubt. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what else she could do.

“Okay,” she sighed nervously. “Okay, let’s… _fuck,_ let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks (even moreso than usual, lul) to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for this mess, hahaha. This was an exceptionally long beta process (I legit don't know where my head is lately—like, it took me forever to get out the words "sound board" when not only would that surely come easily to pretty much anyone anyway, but once upon a time _I was actually an apprentice karaoke DJ,_ so yeah) and I was kind of all over the place but all the patience and advice I was given in response was just wonderful, and I am most grateful. :)
> 
> Also, I noted before that I was probably gonna write the relevant bits of the last chapter from Anders's perspective and throw it into the series, [and now here it is](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9334127).
> 
> And of course, [I scream a lot on Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) if you ever need more trash in your life.


	70. Falling Apart to Start Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: escapist drinking, tension and anxiety all over the place, implied/referenced sexual assault, a fairly explicit description of eating disorders, implied/referenced substance abuse, brief potential medical squick, and of course a lot of Karl feels
> 
> Yes, a couple of those warnings do come from a place of "Guess Where Julianna's Head Is Right Now," sorry.
> 
> ["2HB" from Velvet Goldmine (soundtrack version)](https://youtu.be/wm_nNb1Mgsc)   
>  ["2HB" from Velvet Goldmine (Brian Slade scene)](https://youtu.be/gytjCERJrcY)   
>  ["2HB" from Velvet Goldmine (Jack Fairy scene)](https://youtu.be/op6qafyNIxQ)

Hawke and Elissa walked back out to see Anders walking up to the stand, to see him look so strangely nervous when he took the microphone, and how absolutely fucking terrible he looked.

She had to turn away, it was already too much.

_“Oh, I was moved by your screen dream, celluloid pictures are living…”_

“Of course,” she whispered to herself, referring to Anders’s selection.

_“Your death could not kill my love for you…”_

It made sense, in so many ways. Of course that song would be on his mind. Of course that film would be where he would turn, just as she had.

_“Take two people romantic, smoky nightclub situation, your cigarette traces a ladder…”_

She involuntarily glanced back up towards him when she thought back to that time so far back, to that one fateful night just outside the tavern, when he tried to make her smile by saying that her cigarette traced a ladder to the stars, and how it had worked.

Much to her surprise, when she looked his way, her eyes met his. He was watching her, although his gaze shifted almost as soon as she caught it, so she looked back to what was left of the drink in front of her. To her further surprise, Elissa said nothing.

Neither did anyone else, for that matter. Not a single word had been spoken since their return. Hawke figured it was a safe assumption her makeup was a mess, that at least everyone could see that and draw the obvious conclusion, even if they wouldn’t know why. Yet they hadn’t jumped on her, hadn’t immediately questioned it.

Somehow, that only made her even more nervous.

_“Here’s looking at you, kid, celebrate years, here’s looking at you, kid, wipe away tears, long time since we’re together…”_

He really did look awful, though, and if she looked half as bad as she imagined after her breakdown in the bathroom, well…

Her friends could draw the obvious conclusions.

_“Now I hope it’s forever…”_

His voice cracked hard in that line, momentarily losing key, his timing falling a couple of seconds behind in the recovery.

“Hey,” Elissa whispered, and Hawke shook her head just as she had before, but this time Elissa continued, anyway. “Did you see that?”

She shook her head again and took a drag of her cigarette. She didn’t remember lighting one. She was strangely okay with that.

“He looked at _you_ when he said ‘forever,’” Elissa explained. “I told you—”

“Please,” Hawke interrupted. Her voice sounded raw and dry and…empty. “Please, not…not yet…”

Elissa just wanted to help. Elissa needed to help with a fierce desperation born from pain she didn’t know how to express. The next step would be getting her to admit it. The first step was to get her to just let Hawke wallow in her overwhelming sadness and fear for the time being.

“Need anything?” Norah asked, coming up behind Carver and trying to look like she hadn’t done that deliberately. It was adorable and Hawke felt it twist in her chest, too raw and wracked with worry.

She looked to her empty glass before she answered, and she should have known Varric and Aveline were going to make their points to scowl at her before she could ask for another.

“Cider, please,” she said instead, cursing the knowledge that the whiskey in her purse had probably become moot.

No one objected to that order, and Norah cleared what was no longer in use from the table with a smile, and Hawke’s eyes followed as she made her way back to the bar.

“Hawke,” Varric started as her gaze drifted back to her hands, and she hated how obvious she must have been, but again she shook her head.

He said her name again, and she didn’t respond at all. She was shutting down, and she was no longer even trying to stop it. She wasn’t sure she could honestly claim she had been making an effort before, but even any chance at an attempt that could have been there was lost. She forced herself to look back to Anders, to watch him so her friends could see she was, since they could apparently pick up on every fucking minor detail of what was catching her attention. She barely even looked away when her drink arrived. She only stared at Anders.

He was so beautiful, the glam of the song and the voice that so perfectly sang it radiating around him, lighting up everything from his gorgeous hair to his sharp cheekbones, his long nose and those lips she loved so much, the way they quivered as the words came out…and how it went so well with the shake in his hands over the microphone, the gaunt to his face she had to be imagining, and of course, those miserable fucking dark circles and heavy bags around his eyes.

_“Words don’t express my meaning, notes could not spell out the score, but finding not keeping’s the lesson…”_

It cut her like a dagger, seethed into her skin and threatened to tear her open. She’d have let it were it not only just some trite metaphor racing through her mind, flowing through her veins, twisting in her heart.

She always did have a flare for the dramatic.

_“Here’s looking at you, kid, hard to forget, here’s looking at you, kid, at least not yet…”_

This had to be so much worse for him, though, she knew that but she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around it. But he was the one who was really hurting, and she even knew that he had to realise how much she was hurting in turn, and how that would only make it that much worse for him. All she wanted to do was hold him and tell him it would be alright, but she wanted it every bit as much for herself as she wanted it for him.

_“Your memory stays, it lingers ever, will fade away never…”_

The crack in his voice presented itself again, not as harshly as it had the first time, but she heard it. She heard it and she didn’t know how to help it.

Her cider was gone and she put out another cigarette she didn’t remember lighting.

It felt so unfair of her, the way she sank so far down into it when it was Anders who was bearing the full weight.

She closed her eyes and took in the song, from its first appearance towards the beginning of the film—the version Anders was surely using as his purely musical inspiration, sung by Thom Yorke—and the glamorous nightclub scene introducing a doomed character in the making, while seeming so hopeful about it. She thought, too, to its appearance at the very end of the film—the version Anders was likely channelling in his very soul, its mood so much different, so incredibly somber—how the portrayal of the emotionally charged “Death of Glitter” concert was so jarring in its tonal shifts, moving from fun to heart-wrenching with each scene up until this song was performed, and how by that point it felt like falling, even grieving, but remained so beautifully resplendent all throughout.

Everything just fucking hurt.

_“Fade away never…”_

There was a shake at her shoulder and she opened her eyes to meet Elissa’s, which were silently pleading as Anders stepped down. She forced herself to stand, to try to look at him as he approached. She didn’t want anyone to have to push her. She wanted to do this, needed to do this on her own.

Anders stopped when he reached the table. She was right, he looked even worse once the distance closed. She wanted to cry again. She wanted to take him into her arms and never let him go. She wanted to find a way for him to never hurt again.

“Anders,” she whispered softly, so softly, rough and raw and teeming with desperation. “Please.”

No one else spoke, and she was grateful that for as stressful and awkward as this was, it could easily be made worse, that at least it wasn’t.

“Hey,” Elissa added, and she stood to join them. “Come on… _please.”_

Elissa’s plea sounded almost as broken as Hawke’s, who did not know how to feel about that fact, but she and Anders both followed Elissa out the door. She wondered if he’d have followed only her. She shook the thought away.

It was that time of year where Kirkwall loved to rain. Ferelden would be freezing, and there was probably still snow, but with Kirkwall being farther North where it was warmer during the winter months, seeing anything like that there would mean pure misery for the southern nations. They’d apparently gotten terrible blizzards for most of the month of Satinalia, which accounted for Kirkwall’s few days of light flurries around the holiday.

But no, in the Free Marches, this time of year it mostly just rained. On the bright side, though, Varric actually did have a bench put in by the door. It was ostensibly a smokers’ area, suggested by the ashtrays on either side, but considering Hawke’s penchant for overly dramatic “let’s take this outside” kinds of conversations over karaoke, and especially considering that the Hanged Man allowed smoking inside, she knew why it was really there.

The rain was light, at least, but it was just enough to be a nuisance. It was also vaguely sobering.

Just enough to be a nuisance.

Hawke walked into that rain from the tavern along with Anders and Elissa. She grew more and more anxious about it by the second, though, and she rapidly felt the world become fuzzy and disconnected.

Hawke sat at that bench and set her bag on her lap, took off her jacket and then awkwardly draped it over her head, trying to give herself as much coverage as possible since there was no way in the Void she was going to get through this without smoking. She lit up as carefully as she could, holding her other hand over her face, staring at the ground.

Streetlights and neon signs reflected in wet sidewalks. It was aesthetically pleasing. That could be her excuse.

After much coaxing from Elissa, Anders reluctantly sat beside Hawke, and she forced herself to look up at him.

“Fuck,” she said aloud with a shake in her voice. She couldn’t help it.

His gaze shifted to the ground at that, still too difficult to make eye contact. She saw him, though, saw how red his eyes were, how blank his stare appeared. She wondered if he’d eaten since they last spoke. She hated herself for not knowing. She hated even more that she probably did, that the obvious answer clawing into the back of her mind was all but a certainty.

That thought was enough to break her once again. She held back, she held so far back with a severity that made her chest ache and her head burn from trying to keep so much inside, but it was there and she knew that they could see it.

She only noticed the shake in her hands because her cigarette became an almost unprecedented struggle when combined with the wet from the rain and the wet from her face, from the spiralling of inebriation and exhaustion and…from her, from this.

“Fuck,” she said again, this time in a pathetic squeak that barely registered as coherent sound. “Oh, fuck…”

She shivered at a rush of cold wind and hoped that covered for her shaking. She was a fucking mess. She was not handling this.

“I don’t care,” she finally managed to say. “I don’t care, not really, it—it’s whatever, but it’s not _at all_ worth this. If that changes anything or…anything…I don’t know, I…fuck…”

She couldn’t form further words, rendered incoherent by her sobbing, and she felt Anders’s arm wrap around her, not even caring when she dropped her cigarette melting into his touch.

Of course he was going to try to take care of her when she was breaking like this, ignoring his own needs and pushing them further down to make sure she was okay. She wouldn’t let him, though, she couldn’t let him. It wasn’t about her, not really, not this time.

She tried to breathe, to stop, to just shut the fuck up already. She buried her face against Anders’s shoulder, resting close to him. But this was not about her, she would not make it about her.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him, and she said it again, and then again until she felt him shake his head.

“No,” he started, sounding choked, his voice holding back on him. “No, I…fuck, I don’t…I don’t know, I…fuck.”

“I’m, umm, I think I’m going to leave you two alone,” Elissa noted awkwardly. “I’m sorry, too, though. I’ll be, ah, I’ll be inside…”

Hawke wondered if she should have stopped her but she wasn’t sure why. They would talk later, Zevran would see to it. In the meantime, Hawke wanted Anders all to herself. Just the two of them, the wind and rain, the flickering lights of Lowtown, the sounds of traffic, and the occasional passerby. Not ideal, but it was a start.

“I knew I was nervous about you two hanging out,” Anders tried to laugh. He was noticeably shivering, inadequately dressed for the weather and oh so thin. She knew she was imagining how much worse he looked, knew it was literally impossible for only a couple of days to make the difference she swore she could see, but that did not do much to quell her nerves.

She hadn’t put down her purse after Elissa got her to leave the bathroom, so she had all of her things and she doubted Anders had anything left inside.

“Should we, or umm, I mean, can we—”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

She could text Elissa or Varric or whoever from the car. She didn’t want to be out anymore. She was cold and tired and drunk and miserable. She wanted warmth and quiet and…and Anders, she wanted Anders. She needed to make this right.

They walked to the car in uncomfortable silence, drove home in uncomfortable silence, walked into the building and up the stairs in uncomfortable silence.

They entered the main room, greeted by Pounce, and they were stopped by the sight of the blanket she’d picked up from Lirene’s spread over the couch, the one she’d been sleeping with. Something about walking in together to see that, that unfriendly reminder of how rough things had been, felt like a turning point.

“I, uh, need to change,” Anders broke the silence, folding his arms and clearly still cold in his damp clothes. “You probably should, too.”

“Yeah, uh…yeah.”

He was right, though, she really did need to. She’d been wearing the same clothes for three days straight.

Still, she felt so strange, so anxious and vulnerable, even over something as simple as following him into the bedroom to make themselves comfortable.

She had definitely remained more intoxicated than she thought, far more than she wanted to let on. This was a conversation that needed to happen, and she was determined to be strong. She was going to make sure he was seen to, that his needs were prioritised, that he was okay. She wasn’t going to let him take care of her when he needed it so much more. She hoped he would let her in. She needed him to let her in.

It felt so good to put on pajamas, though, such a simple pleasure that was so easy to take for granted for those who had not been sleeping in their street clothes.

Of course, she was aware of the fact that she didn’t actually know what would have happened if she had tried to sleep in there with him those past two nights, all she knew was she’d been too scared to find out and that this further confirmed that she deserved the fate she’d made for herself.

She sat down on the bed once she had herself situated. She didn’t even want to look at the couch again just yet. She wanted to be there with him, in the bed that had become theirs, the only place she ever wanted to sleep as long as she lived. She was grateful that at least she didn’t have panic attacks about sleeping on sofas anymore, a long-lasting side effect from a time so long ago of the dangers of drinking until you pass out when there are strangers among the crowd, but that was a thought for another day. She only wanted to be where she was, she didn’t want to leave his side, and she didn’t need any more reasons than she already had. At the same time, however, it still had her feeling just anxious enough that she almost wanted to focus on that thought, not only as a form of self-punishment but also as an attempt to give herself an extra push. She thought that perhaps she could torture herself with the wrong reasons and use them to force herself into moving for the right ones.

“It’s funny how beautiful people look when they’re walking out the door.”

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure why that quote from Velvet Goldmine popped into her head just then, when she looked up to Anders in his pajamas standing restlessly by the nightstand, nearly pacing in place and shifting his eyes between the door and the floor, seemingly anywhere but at her.

“L—Anders,” she tried, scared to step too far over the line she yet needed to find, scared to push him any further away. She suddenly wished her head would stop buzzing, thoughts overwhelmed by so much, so many. She genuinely could not have imagined earlier that she might regret drinking the way she did, which felt preposterous by that point. It didn’t help, either, that she only then realised she hadn’t eaten since Thursday, just as he most likely hadn’t, and she cursed herself for what a hypocrite that made her.

“You don’t look well,” he finally said after a long pause, not at all the start she was looking for. She didn’t doubt him, but that wasn’t what this was about and she forced herself to hold her resolve.

“Anders,” she started again, so determined, holding so tight. She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t navigate this abysmal limbo, this world between having and losing. She had to break through it and she had to do it right. She had to get through to him, had to help him.

She felt sick suddenly, as though the realisation that the only things she’d consumed in the past couple of days had been coffee and liquor prompted her body to finally react to that fact.

She tried to justify it to herself, that it didn’t come from the same place as when Anders did this. Over time he had revealed that he got a legitimate rush from the feeling of hunger, one that sounded to her like it was almost comparable to a high, just as he did in testing his limits and feeling his clothing loosen, in obsessively watching numbers drop. She didn’t do it often and hers was from just not caring about herself enough to “indulge” basic needs, going the way of things like showering whenever these moods hit. His was often followed through with by intention, where with her it was negligence. She figured it wasn’t as likely to spiral out of control like it so easily could when Anders did it, but that reminder didn’t help the way she wanted it to. It only made her feel even worse that she could dare to intervene when it was him while allowing herself to fall away so similarly.

It definitely didn’t help how nauseated she felt, how sitting didn’t seem to make a difference, how everything all together only seemed to be catching up with her more and more as time passed. She was no longer sure she’d even remember this conversation later, but she still needed to have it. She tried harder, tried to push herself, but everything was swimming, everything else combined with how little of her former alcohol tolerance she’d retained over the past few months of her life actually moving in a direction that was more positive than destructive.

She hated reacting like this, she knew it wasn’t fair to him, or to anyone for that matter, but she could slowly feel herself slipping, just as she could start to feel how much she cared slipping even further from her. After all, Anders’s default instinct was to take care of others, and especially to put everyone else’s needs before his own, so she wondered if perhaps she should simply let this happen. Not fair at all, no, absolutely not, but it was already too late to stop it.

She hated reacting like this, hated it with a rage that stemmed from the core of her whole being, and the strange feeling came over her that it was more than just about him. She had never previously had the idea that maybe after everything she’d been through, everything she’d lost, she very well may have actually deserved to be found like she had, that perhaps she actually deserved to finally have some genuine fucking contentment in her life. She more than wanted it, she needed it with a sick desperation, and after having a taste of it she couldn’t handle the thought of letting it go.

“Hey,” Anders said, his voice thick with worry, drawing her attention even closer to how terrible she felt, how by then the physical had become so much more prominent than the emotional. She tried to answer him, but she was too distracted by the way the walls had started moving. She closed her eyes, and she swore she heard singing.

_“Fade away never…”_

It was distant, too far away to be sure where it was coming from. It was a woman’s voice, though, raspy and slurred, only adding to her confusion.

_“Fade away never…”_

She realised she was lying on her side with her legs curled up uncomfortably, and she was clutching her stomach.

_“Fade away never…”_

Her head was spinning when she figured out that it was her voice, that she was the one who’d started singing that same line over and over again under her breath.

_“Fade away never…”_

“Hey,” he tried again. He was sitting on the floor by the edge of the bed looking at her, his guilt shining through his eyes and reminding her how unfair she was being, the thought still looping through her mind when he yet looked so unwell, himself. The singing stopped.

“Anders,” she drawled out in a whisper. “Anders, I’m too broken, I can’t put you back together.”

“That’s not how it works, you know,” he replied solemnly.

“Talk to…talk to me, please,” she attempted despite herself, despite the absolute certainty she’d come to that she was not in the right place for him to do so, that she wanted to remember it when it went down and that was not going to happen if it didn’t wait.

“I think we should go downstairs, okay?” He said gently, a hand making its way into her hair. “How much did you have?”

“Enough,” she almost laughed, and the very thought of moving was enough to make her stomach turn. “Can’t, though, can’t…”

Too much anxiety, too much spiralling, too little self-care, too much to drink, it was all keeping her locked in place.

She had loved using chemicals to help her forget for so much of her life, she used to downright treasure it when they held her like this, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with how much she despised it just then.

“Please,” she said hoarsely. “Not about me, don’t make it…make…love…”

“I’m so sorry,” he uttered softly, and the way his eyes closed when she spoke, and the way he sounded so fragile when be did, seemed to confirm her previous assumption that he had stayed away not because of her but because he simply felt too guilty about the situation at hand. Just as she would have, just as she had in situations past.

It made sense to her that when two people with such intense illnesses were so close, these clashes were bound to happen. He probably knew it, too, she was sure he had to, especially when this wasn’t the first for him that it was for her. That thought reminded her, though…

“I’m not trying to replace him,” she mumbled and hoped he could understand. Her state was worsening, and when he opened his eyes she saw in them how obvious it was to him, too.

“Not now, alright?” It wasn’t for his sake but hers, she knew but she still wanted to fight him. “Not now, love. Let’s get you downstairs.”

“No,” she whined. She was so shaky, so tired, she legitimately didn’t think she could make it that far.

“Please.” It was his turn to beg, that instinct kicking in and bringing her guilt back to the surface.

She did her best to move for him and the rest of the night stopped save only for a couple of brief flashes. She went from the bed to her knees in the back room of the clinic, falling on all fours and getting sick on the floor, and in another moment she was sobbing over a chair in an exam room while he tried to guide her to lie down. From there she recalled nothing until she woke up in Anders’s arms the next day, back in their bedroom, with a bandage around her arm from where he’d had her hooked up to IV fluids and a familiar headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the weird nods to assault and eating disorders, my brain's just been a fun place lately. This chapter, along with [the latest Kanders side-story I just finished for this series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9390977) that is so fucking miserably angsty I actually took a couple of days before I could even bring myself just to send it to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for beta...I guess it's all pretty telling that this depressive episode I knew was coming is definitely here in a fairly significant force. So yeah, there's a thing.
> 
> In general this chapter got pretty far away from me as it went, heh, but I'm really hoping resolution will finally strike next chapter.
> 
> Also another shoutout to [little_abyss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss) who accidentally inspired the use of "2HB" as a Kanders angst song in their phenomenal fic Live 'Til You Die, which does not actually incorporate the song but involves a scene that so fiercely reminded me of the Death of Glitter show in Velvet Goldmine I ended up _having to_ make my own little version of that feel with this. (The title of this one is something of a little nod to them, too, just because.)
> 
> And if course, if you like trash, feel free to dive deeper into the landfill via [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	71. Unhinged and Tethered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to substance abuse, suicide attempts, bipolar episodes, self-harm, character deaths, as well as general lack of self-care and just a ton of self-loathing and doubt and anxiety
> 
> These kids are an absolute mess, but the good news is that things are moving forward.
> 
> ["Heartland" by the Sisters of Mercy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4Z_7_s1MWE)

Hawke closed her eyes almost as soon as she opened them. She didn’t want to be awake yet, she wanted to lie where she was forever. Anders was there, and he held her close. That was good enough for her.

Her head ached, further guiding her to try to tune out the waking world. She thought to how similar the night before must have been to the first time she’d ever entered the clinic. She almost wondered if she should laugh about it with Anders, since he would actually remember the occasions. She decided it wasn’t funny.

Her ears rang, her temples throbbed, she felt like she’d taken a baseball bat to the back of the head. She still felt her stomach turn, and what little light made its way in through the curtains only made it worse.

She was able to move just enough to pull the blankets over her face, doing her best to be careful in the hopes of not waking Anders. It wasn’t even necessarily that she didn’t want to talk yet, that she wasn’t ready for him to let go of her. She was also aware of the fact that he had definitely stayed up all night with her, that was obvious enough that she didn’t have to remember to be absolutely certain of it. She recognised that bandage wrapped around her elbow, she could feel the burn in her throat that was surely explained by her hazy recollection of falling down sick, and—most importantly—she knew Anders. She knew that no matter what else was happening, he would never have left her alone like that, even if he knew the worst was over. She wondered how long he’d actually been sleeping. She assumed it wasn’t very long, and the fact that he’d yet to stir served as all the confirmation she needed.

She wasn’t getting back to sleep, though, that much was becoming all too clear. She almost didn’t care all the same, so at ease in Anders’s hold, so pleased simply to be back in their bed. She relaxed her body as well as she could, so full of tension it physically hurt, and she unwittingly hummed at the sensation of letting herself feel him there beside her.

Yet her eyes began to burn against her will, a sudden rush of emotion she had tried so desperately to kill the night before. She wasn’t ready to feel, she wasn’t ready for anything. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep for just a little while longer, vain as that wish seemed, and to make everything stop before it started again. It was starting again, however, whether she liked it or not. Even worse, judging by the slight movements and breathy hums coming from behind her, it was getting Anders’s attention.

“Please, no,” she whispered, or more like whimpered, to herself. She wanted to imagine she sounded less pathetic than she really did, if nothing else.

“Love,” Anders started in an actual whisper, exhaustion teeming through his voice. “Hey, love, what…how are…mmphf…”

He struggled to speak, he was so out if it. He couldn’t have been sleeping long at all, even by his standards, and that terrified her.

He called her “love,” though. She let herself revel in that for just a second, let herself remember that she knew even before that it was wrong of her to doubt that. Such revelling swiftly turned to guilt, however, which easily shifted her mind back to Anders.

“Please, love, go back to sleep,” she said as calmly as she could. “I’m fine, please…”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, I…”

“I assume you _also_ didn’t mean to say that out loud?” She tried to tease but only sounded terse, too tired and too raw to manage much else. “Anders, seriously, you know that if don’t sleep—”

“I know,” he sighed. “That’s why I did, why I had to…”

“Love, what happened?” If he was implying what she thought he was implying, that scared her even more. She definitely wasn’t getting back to sleep.

“I took some klonopin,” he admitted. “It seems to have done the trick.”

“Anders, is that…”

 _“That_ part of it doesn’t happen too often anymore,” he replied. “But I couldn’t handle it happening now and I just needed…something. I promise, it’s okay. I was just feeling like…like _too much_ but it was like it was still right at the edge and I could still stop it, I could stop it from getting worse, so I did.”

“And at least you’re not me, right?” She tried to laugh. “Although, to be fair, even when I overuse those kinds of drugs, I am still using them for what they’re meant to treat. Opiates, on the other hand… _those_ are where the real problems lie…”

“Love, don’t jo—”

“Have you slept _at all_ between…the, umm, other night and now?” She took a deep breath, cringing internally over having already brought that up. She really did just want him to be able to rest a little longer, even more after learning how close it sounded he’d come to hitting manic.

“Probably a little.” He didn’t sound very convincing, but she told herself he must have, that she knew logically he surely would have gotten at least some sleep in that time or he’d probably be in far worse shape than he was.

“Anders…”

“Have _you?”_

She almost laughed at herself, at how much she did not want to discuss or even think about her end of things.

“Probably a little,” she echoed, hoping she could move back to him swiftly enough, that he’d understand and wouldn’t press much further. “Love, you should really try to—”

“What about you?” That reflex to put everyone else’s needs before his own was showing again, and she hated that she didn’t know how to shove it down, to find a way to make him help himself first for a change.

“What _about_ me?” She muttered dryly, desperate to ease him but coming up with absolutely nothing when she momentarily wracked her brain for any possible thing she could say to make it happen. So, in a move that she found unreasonably surprising, she spoke only the truth. “I’m not getting anywhere with this fucking headache, love. But it’s just a hangover, totally expected, nothing to worry about. I’m way more concerned about you, okay? Can you just let me worry more about you for once?”

“It’s not like it would _actually_ be the first time,” he answered sadly. “Trista, I—”

“Anders, _please.”_ She wasn’t above begging, even if by that point enough had probably already happened that his mind was likely too wired for him to be able to go back to sleep, either. All the same, she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do anything but feel his hold and keep him there. She longed for sleep, but she would happily take this. After those unnecessary lonely and anxious nights on the couch, she could more than happily take this, and that only made it that much easier to resort to fragile pleas. “Just hold me.”

Such a tiny whisper, so difficult to swallow down more tears, at the edge of a whimper and the cusp of shaking.

She tried to keep herself still, tried to mind the pain in her head and the minor spin to the room if she opened her eyes, but it was too late. Everything was about to unleash and there was nothing she could do. Anders’s arms tensed around her, though, and she arched closer into him.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he exhaled into her neck when she broke once again, nuzzled so closely against her it almost tickled, and it took her just another second to realise she was not the only one crying. “Love, I…love, I’m so sorry…”

It hurt so much, the pounding between her ears seeming to seep in deep enough to hear, but she couldn’t stop it. She needed coffee, ibuprofen, emotional stability…

“Don’t let me go,” she managed between quiet sobs, and his grip grew tighter yet. “Please, love.”

He sighed beside her ear, and she swore every ounce of doubt and guilt and self-deprecation he held was made audible inside of it.

“How can you even still want—”

“Anders, I _love_ you—”

“Even after—”

“Yes.”

_“Yes.”_

He loosened his arms just a little when she carefully began to move, to turn herself towards him as slowly and delicately as she could. She got herself turned around somehow and she trailed her fingers into his hair. This was all wrong, this was never how she could have pictured it—except that before Anders, she never could have pictured it at all and for as wrong as it seemed, for as fucked up as it was, it felt all the more like theirs for it, and that made it right.

“Anders, are you—”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes.”

“You really—”

“Yes.”

“Love…”

“I mean, if that’s still—”

“Yes!”

It was her turn on that last note, her turn to eagerly exclaim an interruption, almost able to forget for that one single second that even the sound of her own voice like that would be enough to reverberate in her head and exacerbate the ache.

“Oh Maker,” she caught herself with a short chuckle. _“This_ is certainly less than ideal…”

“Sorry, love, there was only so much I could do,” Anders smiled. There was still a fierce worry in his eyes, still the slightest furrow in his brow, but he was trying and they were talking and they were together and that made it okay. It was going to be okay. “How bad is it, do you need me to get you anyth—”

 _“Everything,”_ she laughed. “Whatever will help, bring it.”

He rolled over to get out of bed, and she automatically reached for him with a sad whine she couldn’t even bring herself to care about making.

“I’m only going to grab you something for your hangover, love, I’ll be right back,” he assured her, and if she wondered if her face fell as much as she thought it did, as much as Anders’s did following his own words. He absolutely confirmed they’d had the same thought at once, though, when he added, “We should probably still talk about it, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes, love,” she replied without hesitation. “Perhaps not _right away,_ mind you, but…”

“Yeah, I agree,” he smiled. “I’ll be right back, love, I promise.”

She curled into herself a little, and that’s when she noticed the plush mabari Fenris had gotten her for Satinalia by her feet. Anders must have been sleeping with it, or at least lying with it at night. That thought was enough to bring a few extra tears to her eyes, but thankfully not enough to get her properly crying again. She suspected there would be more of that yet but she was certainly not looking forward to anything aside from that being over for a little while, and she was glad it could be avoided at least once that time.

“Love,” she started when she heard him come back into the room. “Really, though, how much _did_ you sleep?”

“I managed a couple of hours, I think,” he replied reluctantly. “I’m up now, though, so…”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, same.”

“So you’re not the only one who gets to be worried,” he said with a forced laugh. He moved to her side of the bed and set down a few pills and a large glass of water on the nightstand beside her, and then got back under the covers on the other side.

She made herself sit forward enough to take what he’d gotten for her, and then she laid back down and eased into his arms once again.

“Same kind of shit as the first time you saw me like this, I presume?”

He nodded against her hair, running his nose down her neck and settling in to kiss her shoulder. “It is, yes. We’ll get some food and Gatorade or something later, too, that should help.”

“It could be worse, I guess,” she noted. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone that far, but I am pretty sure I recall the next day typically being _a lot_ harder than this.”

“I did what I could,” he said softly. “You were pretty far gone, but I figured I could at least—”

“Thanks,” she whispered, briefly cringing at the sudden psychosomatic itch under the gauze taped to her arm at its implication. “What time is it?”

“Around 9:00, last I looked,” he answered nonchalantly, although how early the hour was given the night it followed said that much more about how desperately they both needed a proper rest. “Want me to make coffee?”

“No,” she answered far too quickly. “No, I don’t want you to move. I want to stay like _this.”_

“You know we can’t do that, love,” he said with an obvious attempt at some humour in his voice, but he only sounded sad, and she felt it with him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuck,” she sighed defeatedly. “I feel like I need coffee.”

They got up together at that, and they were both slow to move, unsteady and sluggish. She remembered the fact that she’d forgotten to eat for a couple of days, remembered how that must have been a large part of the previous night getting as bad as it did. She wasn’t even going to ask Anders if he had eaten, considering what a very stupid question it seemed.

Somehow they got coffee brewing, somehow they acquired mugs and poured from the pot. Somehow they found the grace required to pull off such usually effortless maneuvers, both of them proud they’d managed to do so without spilling or breaking anything.

“I need a fucking cigarette,” she groaned as they crossed into the main room and her stomach twisted in another reminder, and she knew nicotine would at least temporarily suppress it.

Fortunately her bag had dropped between the door and the couch the night before, and she spotted it right away. She had no idea how she was physically going to make it out onto the fire escape, but she was already too needy, too focused on it.

She thought back to the last time she and Anders had required a serious conversation over coffee and cigarettes while she was yet physically recovering from a very deliberately altered state. That time had been at Aveline’s, had been part of the spiral that led to her staying with Anders for the long term to begin with. That issue had never truly been resolved, which was even clearer to her then than it had been before, but she was taking it day by day. Sort of, for the most part. She was doing her best, though, she really was.

And still, once again she found herself riddled with guilt and the aches of getting much too intoxicated, struggling to light a cigarette and manage her coffee. That had been one of the nicer amenities of living with Aveline, the balcony and the table.

Not that she could ever go back. She loved Aveline and she loved Aveline’s apartment, and it had been a good home she was eternally grateful to have been invited into, but she couldn’t imagine leaving the home she’d found with Anders. She belonged there. She belonged with Anders and Pounce, and their constant crises and their shitty Darktown surroundings with its high crime rate and poorly maintained streets and lack of parking and absurd hipster dives. She gladly traded a table on a balcony in a well-maintained apartment in a high-end neighbourhood for a landing atop the steps to a fire escape with a long drop over long cracks in the pavement of the crumbling alleyway below. She would gladly trade so much more.

She had no idea how she’d made it through the window, exhausted and shaky, with her cigarette lit and coffee warming up her hands, but Anders was out there with her.

“Maker, a few years ago I could’ve had a night like that and then just pounded back a Monster Rehab the next afternoon and been good to go,” she laughed at herself.

“Feeling any better, at least?” He sat down beside her and reached an arm across her back.

“A little,” she answered honestly. Puff of her cigarette, sip of her coffee, puff of her cigarette. “Being up is actually helping a bit, too, weirdly enough. Although I _really_ don’t want to move much beyond this today, if that’s alright.”

Coffee, pause, coffee, cigarette, pause, coffee.

“We _should_ still go out for—”

“Ugh, I know,” she sighed. “It just sounds so _hard…”_

“Fair,” he agreed with a yawn that gave her chills.

“Love,” she turned to look at him, her tone harshly serious. “You _have to_ get some real sleep tonight, _please,_ I—I know it’s basically impossible to make that promise but _fuck,_ love…”

“We should talk,” he replied heavily, and she understood. Airing it out would help them both, would aid in their ability to fulfill that non-promise and she knew it, so she turned away to take a long drag and nodded.

Cigarette, pause, coffee, cigarette, coffee.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a whisper, a pause, a drag, a sip.

“Elissa told me what you said about…ah, when she walked in on you…”

Hawke laughed shortly, unsure what it was she found amusing, and shook her head. “Maker, that only _just_ happened last night, when did she—”

“She called in the middle of the night,” he shrugged. “She was worried about you and of course, she had her suspicions I’d be up…”

“And she was a nervous wreck, I presume?” Hawke chuckled mirthlessly.

“That, too,” Anders nodded. “I expect we’re _both_ going to have a lot to answer for on Tuesday, actually…”

“Don’t worry, love,” she sighed. “With Varric and Aveline, I’m sure there’ll be enough pressure on me to take a lot off of you.”

“Elissa’s coming, too,” he shrugged. “So perhaps not.”

“I don’t know, love, I’m sure she has some words for me, as well…or, you know, _more_ words…”

“Who knows, really,” he smiled slightly. “She feels terrible for telling me what you said, by the way, but…well…you know. She told me Zev’s been trying to convince her to _talk to me_ and I guess she’s starting to think they’re right. So yeah, we’ll see what happens.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not, love,” he answered oh so quickly, not missing a beat, almost stepping over her in his haste to take away that fear. “You know I could never do that.”

She finished her cigarette, lit another. Took a sip of coffee, sighed when she realised that had been all that was left of it.

“You’re too forgiving, you know that,” she noted flatly and took a long drag. She wasn’t sure she’d actually wanted to light another and found herself almost regretting it.

It wasn’t cold but there was a chill in the air and the metal landing upon which she sat seemed to absorb it completely, and it crept up from there to claw into her. She wanted to go back inside, lie back down in bed or at the very least curl up together on the couch, to melt into Anders where they could both allow themselves those necessary extra steps to fall apart completely, keeping themselves close so they’d be right there to pick up each other’s pieces.

“You know,” she continued with a short laugh, “I bet it’d do you a world of good if you could ever learn to take some of that forgiveness away from me and give it to yourself.”

“I don’t know if I’d have any left after if I did that,” he tried to joke, but neither of them were amused. “Sorry, love, I—”

“I know, Anders,” she said softly, reassuringly. “I know, love.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” he went on. “You know I’d have no right, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I _understand,_ love.”

“Of course you do,” she almost laughed, her undertone of disdain directed solely at herself, and when she looked at him, his eyes told her that he understood that, too, just as he did when she followed, “I fucking hate _this.”_

“Yeah,” he nodded. “So do I, love. But I honestly don’t know anymore if I can say I’d change it.”

“Why the fuck not?” She actually laughed, smoke bursting through and reminding her how badly she needed more coffee, with there being none left to quell the sting in her throat at the rough cough that caused.

“Because I’d never have met you,” he answered gently, so sincerely it gave her pause, stopping her halfway through moving to take in another puff of her cigarette. “And that’s fucking worth it.”

 _“Maker,”_ she sighed before her cigarette made it to her lips at what felt like long last, even though it had only been a matter of seconds. “Although, to be fair, same.”

It sounded absolutely ridiculous to her when he said it, despite how greatly she meant it in return. She didn’t think that how much he loved her would ever start to make sense, but she knew that feeling was more than likely mutual.

“You know what’s really fucked up?” She continued, another mirthless laugh lacing her words. “I fucking _loathe_ that your arms look like mine, more than I can say, but…but when I first saw them, that first night Varric and Aveline dragged me to Kirkwall Crew, I felt fucking _relief._ How awful is that?”

“It isn’t,” Anders actually shrugged. “You weren’t exactly _hiding_ how very much you did not want to be there, you know, and you had every reason not to trust me. I can see how that would put you at ease.”

“Dammit, Anders,” Hawke chuckled, but there was a genuine humour in it that time. “You’re _really_ not supposed to be this…this…”

“This what?”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t even know how to make words at this point.”

She snickered quietly and sighed and decided for certain that she had no desire to finish her cigarette, carelessly dropping it into the gap between the landing and the first step below it.

“Anders,” she started again as she forced herself to stand up, “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Yeah,” he smiled back at her. He stood, as well, and he took her mug from her when it became very clear getting back inside was going to be a far greater struggle for her than it was for him, and he waited until they had both cleared the window before he spoke up again. “But fuck knows, love, I’m quite the miserable disaster, myself.”

“But you’re _my_ miserable disaster, love,” she smirked, her tone light-hearted, and he immediately moved to pour more coffee, even though it was surely cold by then. “And your mess is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I’m _not_ sorry about that.”

“Trista—”

 _“Anders,”_ she interrupted swiftly, and he silently handed her a freshly filled cup, both of them remaining quiet until they made it to the couch and she went on. “I know I should have been more considerate of how this might affect you. I know I probably should have placed that ball in your court and left it there. I know I’ll never truly understand how much harder _all_ of this is for you than it is for me. I know it doesn’t even _really_ matter in the end what’s official and what’s not as long as we have each other, and I know for a real fucking fact that I shouldn’t have let other people influence my decision. But Aveline brought up the good point that with Drakonis coming up and how we both know we’re not going to stop putting ourselves out there, well…with all the risk involved, she suggested that if this is how strongly I really feel, that you should know just…just in case. And I couldn’t really argue with that. So it was easy to listen to Elissa when she kept at it. Because I do feel that strongly, Anders. I had no idea it was even fucking possible to love someone _this fucking much_ and I’m not sorry that I needed you to know that. I am sorry it hurt you, though, when I should have known it would. I truly am sorry for that part of it, love. I’m not trying to replace Karl, I’d never want to do that. I just need you to know that you’re fucking _it_ for me, alright? And that I’ve never been more sure of anything, and _that_ makes staying alive mean something to me. That’s where I stand, and I will do whatever you want me to do with it.”

“Aveline still has next dibs, though, I imagine,” Anders laughed and leaned over to kiss Hawke’s shoulder.

“Of course she does,” Hawke smiled and chugged her cold coffee as quickly as she possibly could before setting down the mug, wrestling with the blanket to wrap it around them both, and resting her head over Anders’s chest. “So, you know, no real pressure. I just, really, I just needed to you know, love, I just needed—”

“I know, love,” Anders whispered soothingly and moved his arm around her, softly running his fingertips up and down her back. “You said the thing about not wanting to replace him last night, too, you know.”

“Oh, Maker,” she sighed, unsure how to read his need to say that.

“I never thought you wanted that, love, I guess…” He swallowed hard and shook his head slightly, just enough that she could feel what he was doing after she closed her eyes. “I guess sometimes I still worry that _I_ do. I know the circumstances are infinitely different, but the way I feel with you and the way I felt with him are…it honestly _unnerves_ me sometimes. I mean, I’d always believed on some level that Karl and I were fucking soulmates or some dumb kid shit like that, that we really would run away together someday and live happily ever after. I believed it, but at the same time there was always a part of me that countered it, that always reminded me that we lived in the fucking Void and that it was always likely it would end up killing us both, and that separation was always a threat. With you, though, Trista…with _you,_ I _don’t_ believe we’re going to be able to see each other through whatever happens, that we’ll end up together no matter what’s thrown at us. I don’t _believe_ it, love, I fucking _know_ it. It feels like a hard fact, and like that knowledge has become a part of who I am. And for as much as I loved him and as much as I wanted it, it was never so concrete with Karl.”

“And you feel guilty.” It wasn’t a question, but Anders nodded, anyway.

“Like I said, I know the circumstances are completely incomparable, but…”

“Maybe it’s selfish of me, love, but I _have to_ believe he’d have wanted this for you. Like I _know_ Wesley would have wanted Aveline to find Donnic…or, fuck, even like I know Bethany would have wanted me to find all of _this.”_ She nestled in closer, perking up her chin to nuzzle her nose against his neck, so playfully cat-like that he quietly giggled, which was the precise response she was looking for.

“Fuck, I feel like we’ve this _exact_ conversation a million times before,” he mused.

“We probably have, love,” she acknowledged. “And we’ll probably have it a million times more. And that’s fine, because that means we’re still together, still doing this, and that’s all I fucking care about.”

“I don’t deserve your love,” he muttered.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said _that_ before, too, love,” she teased. “And I still think you’re right, that you deserve so much _better,_ but I’m also still really selfish so I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

“I _always_ want you, love,” he whispered delicately and kissed her head. “And I know you’re right. If things had gone differently, finding something like this is what I’d have wanted for Karl, too.”

Pounce jumped up on the couch and tried to wedge himself between them, which caused them both to laugh.

“Come on, baby, the grown-ups are having a moment,” Hawke smiled into Anders’s shoulder, realising how like him she sounded. “Andraste’s tits, love, I will _never_ be over what you’ve done to me…”

“That one’s on Pounce,” Anders chuckled. “He has that effect on people.”

Pounce jumped off and wandered away when she pulled back a little to sit up a bit straighter, to place her hands gently over his cheeks and look into his eyes. Those beautiful sad eyes that always looked so tired and so chillingly haunted, no matter how perfectly they crinkled when he smiled, no matter how warm they became when they met hers.

“How do you not understand how amazing you are, love,” she sighed, entirely omitting any questioning inflection despite the phrasing. She hadn’t meant to say it at all, and she knew what the answer was, regardless.

“Love—”

“No, sorry,” she shook her head, which was regretfully enough to remind her of her lingering hangover. “Mm, love, I know. I’m sorry, love, I know. But they were wrong, alright? The Chantry, the Circle, the voices, your father—love, they were _all_ wrong.”

Anders blatantly blinked back tears, and after a few seconds he gave in and closed his eyes and let them fall. Hawke leaned to him and kissed his forehead, keeping his head in her hands.

“You’re so beautiful, love,” she whispered. “You are so fucking beautiful, everything about you, everything you are. I need you, love.”

“Because you actually like me or just because I’m pretty?” He laughed softly with a warm smile, and it was everything to her.

“Why can’t it be both?” She chuckled in return. “I _love_ you, you know that. _Although,_ have you ever considered eyeliner?”

“I have,” he smirked. “I’ve never been able to justify putting in the effort, though.”

 _“Well,”_ she bit her lip at him. “Maker knows you don’t need the help, but…”

She went back to her bag and retrieved the eyeliner pencil she always kept on hand, and guided him to turn facing her as far as he could go and then shifted herself so she was almost in his lap.

“Close your eyes, love,” she said with a smile. She knew it was certainly all in her head and that meant it couldn’t possibly last, but as she focused on him like that she could swear she felt every ache and ailment she’d woken up with fall away completely.

His cheeks were still damp and his eyes were still watering slightly so she knew it was going to smudge at the very least, but she also caught the way he grinned when she started to carefully draw over his eyelids, starting her lines thin and then making them thicker and thicker until she was satisfied. She had him open them again and look up towards the ceiling so she could add more underneath, and she told him to hold as still as he possibly could to very slowly and cautiously do his tightlines and waterlines.

“Fuck, love, you need to _see_ this,” she exclaimed after she got a good look at him upon finishing, pulling back a little just to take him all in and admire her work. “You are fucking _gorgeous.”_

He laughed somewhat self-consciously but it was clear she didn’t need to further explain that she found him so unbearably beautiful no matter what he did, just that she was only taken aback by how the addition of a few black lines around his eyes could still enhance that. It was similar to how strange it always felt that wearing those lines herself always made her feel so much better about herself. Although in Anders’s case there was also the element that she genuinely didn’t know she could be any more attracted to him than she already was.

“So, umm,” he smiled shyly, and that smile made the rest of the world, even the persistent light pounding in her head, disappear. “What do you…you know…want to do?”

She readjusted to lean back into the couch and sighed heavily as she put her feet up on the coffee table. “Fuck, I don’t know, order some food, whatever doesn’t involve leaving the building, go to bed early…”

“That’s a fair compromise but it’s, uh, not what I meant, love,” he chuckled nervously, and she instantly realised even before he continued. “I mean, on a scale from Merrill and Isabela to Aveline and Donnic…”

“Anders and Trista,” she laughed. “I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead, but I don’t really care. Whatever it is, it’ll be ours.”

“How about somewhere in the middle?” He sounded like he actually had given it thought, which surprised her every bit as much as it excited her. “Nothing too big, that doesn’t feel quite right, but I imagine we still want everyone in the _family_ to be there…”

“Yes the fuck we do,” she grinned. “And lots of glitter, like ‘70s glam came all over it.”

Anders burst out laughing so hard he snorted, which made her laugh even harder.

“And I call the Sisters of Mercy’s ‘Heartland’ for first song,” she added.

“Fuck, yeah, that works,” he agreed with far more enthusiasm than she could have anticipated.

“How badly would Pounce murder us if we rigged him somehow to be the ring-bearer?” She was still laughing, as was he, and it seemed neither could stop even though they were both entirely serious.

“Maker, you’re perfect,” was, expectedly, his only response to her question.

“Oh, _and,”_ she spoke as sternly as she could force herself to sound, “I must _insist_ on eyeliner. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, love. I have never regretted feeling a hangover more than I do right now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he laughed, but it was evident enough that he was genuinely flattered, however awkward he was about it. “Fine, I _do_ need to see this…”

He got up and walked towards the hallway, and she took the opportunity to reach back into her bag in the hope she would find her phone, and she let out a loud sigh of relief when she did.

She pulled up her music app, suddenly deciding she really needed to hear that song.

“Oh wow,” she heard Anders exclaim from the bathroom, and it had her laughing again in an instant.

_“Lay me down the long white line, leave the sirens far behind me, paint my name in black and gold, my heart, my flame, my road…”_

“Yeah, okay, I definitely see it,” he remarked as he walked back in. “I really _am_ going to have to keep this up.”

_“My heartland fade across the line, heartland singing the faces shining, in the failing, failing, failing, heartland make the places mine…”_

“Glad we’re on the same page,” she mused contentedly, and she was about to pick up her phone again to look at the time before she was startled by a loud crack of thunder, followed immediately by Anders’s hand appearing around hers in an impossibly quick flash.

“Love?” She turned towards him as he inched his hand away, and he plainly looked embarrassed, averting his eyes and all.

_“Clearly now the past mistakes, the giant steps we had to take, the path that ever promise made to did in dream, dissolve and fade…”_

There was clearly a sudden downpour outside, the rain pounding so hard they could hear it from where they were, and the volume and frequency of the thunder truly was jarringly harsh.

“Sorry, umm, I just _really_ don’t like thunderstorms…”

He began wringing his hands, but he stopped almost as soon as he started, as though in that same moment he realised she would notice.

_“My heartland, heartland, heartland…”_

“After everything you’ve been through, _this_ is a thing for you?” She swallowed uncomfortably, realising as soon as she said it just how condescending she surely sounded. “Sorry, love, I don’t mean to sound insensitive, I’m just surpri—”

“It’s called astraphobia,” he interrupted defensively. “I just…ah fuck. Childhood fear I never outgrew. You’d _think_ other fears and traumas and…whatever would have replaced it but no, it all only got added to the pile, of which this noise is somewhere around the bottom layer…”

_“My heartland, heartland, heartland…”_

“Well,” she said softly, hoping to convey reassurance, and she took his hand back. “All the more reason not to go out today?”

_“My heartland, heartland, heartland…”_

“Yeah, fair enough,” he half-laughed nervously. “Just promise me you’ll drink a lot of water, alright?”

“If _you_ promise me we’ll at least go to _bed_ super early tonight,” she stressed once again.

“We’re still on that?” He reclaimed his hand and shifted around, but thankfully it was only to readjust the blanket to cover them and reach for the remote controls on the table.

“Yes,” she replied bluntly. “Love, you know _that_ scares the shit out of me…”

“Yeah, fair,” he conceded. “Me, too.”

_“Behind the lines, a face that glimmers, still looking for a face that shines, in the promise, in the places, I’m going to make them mine…”_

Pounce hopped up between them again, and they both automatically started to pet and scratch him.

“It’ll be nice to get some real rest, regardless,” she sighed, and although she couldn’t possibly bring herself to say it even if she would ever want to, she knew that the “while simultaneously sober and lying next to you” was unequivocally implied.

_“My heartland, heartland, heartland…”_

“Yes, love,” he said quietly. “Yes, it will.”

He turned on the television and brought up Netflix, which prompted the obvious discussion of what they wanted to watch, but she could hardly care. They were safe and warm and by each other’s sides, and that was enough to make her as confident as she ever possibly could be that they really would, in fact, have a genuinely restful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, RESOLUTION!
> 
> Also, so...even though I completely abandoned any semblance of an outline somewhere around chapter 35, I'm starting to think I've begun moving this fic towards a direction that could actually start leading into an ending? Yes, I know, after only NOW OFFICIALLY AS OF THIS CHAPTER SURPASSING _ORDER OF THE PHOENIX_ IN LENGTH but...you know. It probably won't be for a little while yet still, but I can kind of feel it starting to head that way and it feels really, really weird, hahaha. Like, yes, of course I know it needs to have an ending and that it _will_ get there someday no matter what and that this thing is already long as fuck but...I don't know, it's just a very strange thought.
> 
> Anyway, many thanks and much love as always to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for all the help and tremendous amount of patience, and a gigantic enthusiastic shoutout to [un-shit-yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself) for gracing me with [THIS FUCKING GIFT](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com/post/156633751223/your-brand-is-fhawke-and-anders-doing-each-others) (even if I did apparently just _have to_ give Anders my own dumb fear in the process of using it, because of fucking course I did, heh).
> 
> Also, of course, feel free to follow the sounds of trash screaming down into the landfill that is [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	72. Necessary Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD/survivor's guilt, anxiety, references to death, mentions of unhealthy family dynamics, vague suicide attempt nod
> 
> Elissa _finally_ talks.
> 
> No music this chapter.

Tuesday promised to be an adventure.

Everything was so much, with the lingering guilt of the catastrophe that had been their previous Saturday, with not only Zevran’s return to the group but Elissa’s first entrance, with feelings upon feelings upon feelings.

Hawke and Anders hadn’t actually told anyone about their latest news, not even Elissa. In fact, they had remained fairly secluded over the last few days, going only to work and speaking only to those they had to in that context. Otherwise they were holed up in the apartment, the two of them against the world, however reluctant they were to face it.

They didn’t want to go downstairs, not even for Kirkwall Crew, despite the clock ticking, despite the fact that it was only a matter of minutes before they would have to.

Yet Anders was relaxed into the couch with his feet on the coffee table, Hawke was lying curled up facing the television with her head in his lap, and Pounce was sleeping on her hip while Velvet Goldmine was coming to an end for far from the first time since Sunday, when they basically started watching it on repeat during their free time. They were comfortable and warm and together, and it just felt so perfect, it felt so safe.

She never wanted to move from this spot, and it sounded very much like he felt the same when he sighed, “We should probably get going, love.”

“We can’t go _anywhere,_ love, you know the rules,” she laughed quietly. “If I move, I disturb Pounce, which is clearly illegal, and you can’t move without moving me, therefore the meeting is cancelled.”

“Not gonna lie,” he chuckled, “I honestly kind of wish it was.”

“We’re really in for it this week, I just fucking know it,” she sighed. “Maybe everyone will be up for moving things to the Hanged Man.”

“I don’t know about that, love,” Anders said heavily, absent-mindedly running his fingers through Hawke’s hair. “Maker only know just how much shit Elissa’s got pent up, but I suppose we’ll see where the night leads us. But of course, first it has to start, so just give him some treats after you get up and Pounce will forgive you.”

“Fiiiiine,” she whined and wiggled her hips just enough to disturb Pounce until he jumped off and ran towards the kitchen, which begged the question of just how many times Anders had apologised for getting up by spoiling his cat.

Pounce was already waiting by the pantry when she went in to do as Anders suggested, indicating that the answer was certainly a very large number, and she quietly laughed to herself at the thought.

“Well,” she drawled out nervously upon putting the bag of treats back on its shelf and walking back into the main room to greet Anders, “shall we?”

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” he answered with a comparable lack of enthusiasm, and they made their way downstairs to find that, much to their awkward embarrassment, they were the very last to arrive.

“Well, fuck me,” Anders whispered at the sight, so softly Hawke was sure she was the only one who heard, and it took everything in her power not to offer him a bad joke in response.

Instead, they silently sat next to each other in the chairs left for them, and she could sense Anders take a deep breath before starting and trying to pretend he wasn’t especially anxious to be there.

“Zev and I grabbed some extra seats from one of the exam rooms,” Elissa noted, the first to speak. “I, umm, I hope that’s alright…”

“Of course,” Anders said calmly, obviously grateful to have someone else to tend to so quickly. “I’d much rather put a few extra chairs away than have you sit on the floor. Sorry about last time you were here, Zevran, things were so—”

“Not to worry, my friend,” Zevran replied swiftly with a smile. “Indeed, they were, and it is not as though we stuck around _here_ very long, in any case.”

“Speaking of the Hanged Man,” Aveline started sternly, and Hawke could already feel the colour rising in her face. “What in the Void even happened on Saturday?”

“Ah, umm,” Elissa muttered sheepishly, and it was instantly evident that she was about to insert herself further so that she might take the blame, and Hawke slightly cringed when that suspicion was confirmed barely a second later. “I’m sorry, that was on me—”

“No, Elissa, stop,” Anders interjected. “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me, but—”

“Maker’s balls, now there’s three of them,” Varric chuckled, looking directly at Hawke as though he needed to point out how obviously he meant her as the third party.

 _“Anyway,”_ Anders continued, “I know things got, umm, _weird_ …to say the least, yeah…but you _can’t_ keep blaming yourself for everything, Elissa.”

“We _do_ try to keep it a general rule around here that Varric isn’t allowed to be right,” Isabela smiled in playful encouragement.

“Besides, Elissa,” Hawke gently offered her own attempt once Isabela’s appeared to take, Elissa’s expression mostly unchanging but visibly easing in tension all the same. “If I recall correctly, it was _Aveline_ who really, seriously started it, not you.”

“Oh, _fuck me,”_ Varric laughed harder than he should have, and Aveline responded with an elbow to his side. “Shit, sorry, but… _that_ is what this is about?”

“Andraste’s knickers,” Anders mumbled, and Hawke unthinkingly reached to take his hand.

“Is that _really…”_ Fenris started but shook his head as his trailed away uncertainly. “Sorry, I don’t mean that the same way Varric surely does. I suppose what I do mean, then, is simply…well, what happened? You two had all of us absolutely terrified…are things alright now?”

“Yes, they are, Fenris,” Anders answered appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“Wait,” Merrill interjected excitedly. “Does that mean, well…”

Hawke began to move her lips but turned to Anders instead, and he quickly gave his confirmation with a simple but warm, “Yes.”

Everyone had a reaction to that, of course, but Hawke could not deny how relieved she was that Anders was not having any of it.

“Thanks, really,” he spoke over their friends just as soon as they started, and Elissa’s gaze perked up at him in anticipation. “That’s not what _this_ is for, though. Elissa, I trust you understand the rules of this arrangement.”

“Yes,” she smiled shyly. “After all, I didn’t rescue your ass from the Chantry only to give it up now, right?”

She laughed flatly and what she’d wanted to convey was clear, but her intonation did not match her intentions, and what would likely have made everyone laugh with her if delivered any other way only added to the uncomfortable tension surrounding them.

“I was so fucking blown away when you did that, you know,” Anders told her, making a point to meet her eyes, to make himself seem every bit as serious as he was. “Honestly, I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out and I’ll admit that it scared me, that it was too hard to believe it could possibly be sincere, but it was. You saved my life, Elissa, when I was absolutely _no one_ to you. You didn’t know me, you didn’t know what had brought me there, you didn’t have any reason to take me in or back me with your name or any of it. You did that because that’s who you are, and you’ve done a world of good with that, and that _should_ matter so much more than whenever mistakes happen. Mistakes will _always_ happen, and you _cannot_ save everyone. Believe me.”

“I know,” Elissa sighed. “I know, and I know you know, Anders. But I know you _also_ know how it’s a lot fucking easier said than done to focus on the wins over the losses. And there’s still far too many losses, Anders. I’ve had _too many losses.”_

“Talk, darling,” Zevran told her soothingly. “That is why we are here, my love.”

“Anders was the first person to tell me about post-traumatic stress,” she said firmly, clearly working so hard to keep herself steady. “When I learned about it, though, even when I saw myself in it, I guess I was under the impression that eventually it would fucking _go away._ Anders, isn’t it supposed to go away?”

She was breaking at the seams, and taking much less time to do so than anyone could have guessed, further confirming just how desperately she needed it.

“I’m not quite sure what it’s _supposed to_ do,” Anders remarked gently. “In some people it does go away, though, that’s true—”

“Sounds fake but okay,” Isabela interrupted with a dry scoff before adding an earnest, “Uh, sorry, just…you know…”

“Honestly, yeah,” Anders continued with a morbidly amused smirk, “I _really_ don’t know how common that is, but Elissa, seriously…without offering any details that are not mine to give, you are in _very_ good company on that count here.”

“Fucking right,” Fenris chuckled with a strange smirk of his own, entirely endearing and obviously intended as reassurance, perhaps even comfort, and it genuinely did seem to help.

“I don’t doubt that,” Elissa smiled softly. She was trying, that much was certain. “I guess I never learned to deal, is all. My response to everything traumatic I was involved in during the war was simply to involve myself in something else traumatic and then after…I don’t think I have to tell you at this point what a terrible meddler I can be. I just can’t let anything go anymore, it seems. Maker, I haven’t been able to in fucking _years.”_

“You know,” Aveline started in that same tone she used whenever she needed to get Hawke talking, “I was _at_ Ostagar. So was Carver, actually. We were both fairly new and neither of us had any clue about…well, anything, really. But it just felt _wrong_ to leave like that, even under orders. Carver nearly got himself court martialed—he was so adamant that we had to stay where we were that I honestly thought he was going to punch his commanding officer to get his way, and at the time I’d thought it was only Carver being Carver but it turned out the bugger was right, and I think both of us have had to live with that, too.”

“I had no idea,” Hawke couldn’t help uttering, gazing at Aveline in a moment of bewilderment. She’d known about their deployment to Ostagar, of course, and how short-lived it was, and later on everyone in Ferelden learned what had happened there to explain why they’d ended up on leave so quickly, but she had never once heard either of them talk about it, and this was the first time it had ever occurred to her that she’d never asked.

“Yeah, that was a turning point, that’s for sure,” Elissa nodded. “I know I’m not the only one who thought we were totally fucked after that. You were right to go, though, Aveline. You didn’t know your orders came from the wrong side, and you only did as a soldier is meant to do. It was just so strange for me because, well, even ignoring the fact that my family was practically the fucking inciting incident, I _should_ have been there. Alistair and I were on a fucking supply run when shit got real, but our team had stayed, and General Mac Tir’s troops fucking _decimated_ them. We lost a lot of good soldiers and…we lost a lot of friends, too. Duncan, our commander, he’d personally recruited the both of us, and he was a damn good man. He and Alistair were actually incredibly close, it was kind of like he saw Duncan as the father figure he never had. And I certainly wouldn’t be here without him—I’d probably never even had made it out of Highever without his help. But Alistair and I both knew we were sent on that run because of our family names and bullshit political ties, that Duncan was trying to keep us ‘safe,’ at least relatively speaking, and we both tried to argue that we should have been _there,_ on the field with our peers, but…we fucking weren’t, and it was pure chance that put _us_ in those positions, and maybe it _should_ have fucking been someone else.”

“It was a fucked up time all around, Elissa,” Aveline offered. “Maker’s balls, it never really made any sense to me when it was going on. It seemed like there was some political tension in the news but nothing too much to worry about, and then suddenly, _boom,_ there’s an all-out war happening in our backyards.”

“Basically,” Elissa shrugged. “Even from the inside it was difficult to follow. The Mac Tirs had some sort of disagreement with the Theirins about relations with Orlais, and I guess they decided that overthrowing the entire fucking government was somehow the only solution to their problem. So they collaborated with Rendon Howe to oust the Couslands under the promise that the Howes would take over our land, as well as our political power and all of our fucking money, and then they went after the Guerrins to try to get closer to the Theirins, and there was a pretty substantial body count left along the way.”

“All these names belong to Fereldan political big-wigs, I presume?” Varric asked to another glare from Aveline. “What, I’m just trying to keep up, Red, be fair. But wait, let me get this straight…all that effort to take shit over from the Theirins, and all _that_ got them was a different Theirin in charge?”

“Yeah, that’d be how that went,” Elissa laughed. “Alistair’s family history is a bit complicated—his father had an affair and so he wasn’t properly raised as a Theirin…they actually treated him as a sort of stain on the family name for a long time, it’s honestly a whole big mess and it’s an absolute fucking _tragedy_ that my parents had to die but the assassination attempt on Eamon Guerrin was unsuccessful…oh Maker, no one _ever_ tell Alistair I said that…but I digress—so it wasn’t exactly the outcome anyone was expecting, but it’s the one we got.”

“Even I remember seeing _that_ on the news,” Isabela chimed in. “I was living in Denerim at the time, and it was amazing how the whole country reacted. Flags at half-mast, moments of silence, all that…I can’t even imagine what you must have been going through.”

“It was touching, of course,” Elissa smiled. She was wringing her hands, and had been doing so for a while, and Zevran moved one of theirs over hers in a show of comfort and reassurance. “I didn’t really give _myself_ a chance to mourn them, though. Duncan was there when it happened, actually. Everything was official that I’d be going with him to Ostagar, and I didn’t even consider at the time that holding a private meeting in my family home was probably another instance of special treatment, but… _well._ That one saved my ass, too, because after the shots went off, I had someone else there to force me to run, someone there to watch my back. I barely even remember what happened from there until we crossed out of the Hinterlands, to be honest, which only makes me that much more confident I could never have done it without him. And from there, that’s all shit for the history books. I didn’t get much chance to _breathe_ from that point on, much less grieve.”

“Fortunately for you,” Zevran laughed softly, _“I_ happened to be looking for a way to stay the fuck out of of Antiva for a while and happened upon some volunteer work in Denerim, and _that_ is how we met.”

“I _am_ glad to have gotten _you_ out of the deal, you know that,” Elissa smirked for a moment, reacting accordingly to Zevran’s intentions. “You ass.”

“I love you, too,” Zevran smiled gently, and they nodded at her in further encouragement.

“Anyway, yeah,” Elissa sighed. “I just couldn’t stop. So much happened after losing my parents, and their deaths weren’t the last I had to witness firsthand. They were just the starting point, which is…which is pretty fucked, I guess, when you think about it. And then the war ended and I was still acting as a soldier, but there was no fight, we were simply rebuilding. Which was so important, of course, but by that point I didn’t know how to do much else _but_ be an active soldier. And then things were pretty much rebuilt, and I was effectively phased back into civilian life, or at least as close as I get now. Sometimes it feels _too_ close, really. I _am_ still a Warden on paper, but these days I mostly work for Alistair and run a shit ton of charity work, which is even more _also really important stuff,_ but it’s never enough to keep my mind quiet. So I get overwhelmed, and I overwhelm myself in return. That’s why I saved your ass, Anders, and why I took in everyone I did in Amaranthine—everyone I _could._ It’s also why I inserted myself so much into your relationship. I could help, and that would lead to two wonderful people being happy, and that would not only distract me in the moment but it would give me something to focus on for a little after once it all worked out. Because you know what, weirdly enough, it usually _does.”_

Zevran chuckled and Elissa gave them a blatant side-eye, to which they spoke up, “Oh, but what about Morrigan and—”

“Andraste’s tits, Zev,” Elissa shook her head. “Fine, you can list trying to set _them_ up as a failure, sure. In my defense, we were _all_ very drunk the night they hooked up, _yourself_ included, and they both absolutely adore that kid so it’s still not a _total_ loss. You know, after the scandal blew over and Alistair could go outside without being accosted by the press again…”

“Oh yeah,” Hawke mused aloud. “Sorry, Morrigan visited with Zevran over Satinalia and she mentioned her son but I didn’t put it together…”

Elissa laughed warmly at that. “Yeah, Kieran’s a _great_ kid. He calls me Aunt Elissa and claims I’m his very favourite baby-sitter. So you know, like I said, not really a loss on that count at the end of the day.”

“He’s lucky to have you there for him,” Anders noted. “I know what it’s like to know Elissa Cousland has your back, and it’s a damn good feeling, indeed.”

“Fuck, Anders,” Elissa’s voice cracked just slightly, and Zevran moved in to wrap an arm around her. “So I didn’t ruin—”

“Believe me, Elissa, we’re both _perfectly_ capable of ruining our _own_ lives and self-destructing completely without the need of _any_ outside help,” Hawke teased.

“Basically,” Anders agreed. “I understand why you meddled. I know that’s your thing, and I get why you did it in our case. But Trista’s right, we are _never_ going to make it easy on you…or, I guess, _ourselves,_ more like. We got through it, though, like we do. And _you_ should probably be opening up to _your_ loved ones more often.”

“Yeah, Zev was really worried about you, you know,” Isabela added. “Communication is key, isn’t it, Kitten?”

Merrill didn’t answer, though, instead appearing to forlornly stare at the floor.

“Are you alright, Merrill?” Anders looked towards her, at the way she’d hung her head and pulled into herself, how small it made her seem.

“Yes, umm, sorry,” she replied nervously and forced herself to look back up. “It’s just that, well, sometimes I feel so sad about everyone being here, you know? I mean, we have _all_ been through so much, but…I know _I_ was born like this, so it almost doesn’t matter for me, like you and Hawke were—oh, Creators, I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Anders smiled softly in reassurance, and Hawke did the same. “You’re not wrong, after all. Please, go on.”

 _“Ma serannas,”_ she noted sincerely before taking in another breath to keep going. “So yes, of course, there’s the three of us who have it in our fucking chemistry anyway, but then I can’t help but wonder about everyone else here, you know? What if they could have been…well, _normal_ if only such bad things hadn’t had to happen to them?”

“We’ll never _really_ know, Daisy,” Varric replied. “And no matter what, we’re all here now, so I guess you nerds are just fucking stuck together.”

“Fuck you, Dwarf, you’re every bit as stuck _and_ every bit as much of a fucking nerd as anyone else here,” Fenris smirked in Merrill’s direction, and it was enough to get her to start grinning.

“I want to move back to Ferelden,” Zevran blurted out. It seemed like it was actually a subject they had previously given a great deal of thought, although not necessarily a thought they had actually intended to bring it up in that exact moment. “I know I was the one who chose to leave, but that was _clearly_ a very large mistake on my part and I would like to change my mind, if that is alright with you.”

“Of course,” Elissa replied hastily. “I’d like that.”

“Why _did_ you ever go back to Antiva, anyway, Zev?” Isabela asked with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know why I never thought of it before, but it _does_ seem rather strange…”

“It _is_ still home,” Zevran shrugged. “That, and I was not yet entirely aware of _precisely_ what I was leaving behind, but now I am, and I intend to return to it.”

“Move in with me?” Elissa asked shyly. She was speaking way too quickly, her nerves still so blatantly strained. “I mean, if you’re up for it, although I can understand if we’d need a more gradual adjustment, but fuck knows my house is big enough—”

“Elissa, my darling, you’re alright, I promise.” Zevran smiled and turned to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I certainly am up for it, and we can discuss it in greater detail later on.”

“It’s strange to think about you leaving,” Isabela said wistfully. “Not gonna lie, I’ve gotten rather used to having you around. I had no idea it was possible to go this long without getting sick of you.”

“I do need to get back to work eventually,” Elissa sighed. “I’m sure Alistair’s getting overwhelmed without me…”

“It’s been wonderful getting to know you,” Merrill smiled. “I hope you’ll come back, the both of you!”

“At least Zev doesn’t have a real job, Kitten,” Isabela chuckled. “So I’m sure it won’t be _too_ long before we’ll be seeing their ass again, if nothing else.”

 _“Excuse_ me,” Zevran retorted in feigned offense. “If you’d like to trade jobs for a day, I am sure you’ll find leatherwork to be a far more difficult task than karaoke, my friend. You’re just jealous that I can make a living without having to leave the house.”

“True,” Isabela smiled. “Who the fuck knew you could _actually_ pay the bills off of Etsy.”

“Those of us who are very good at what we do,” Zevran smirked.

“I’m not ready to leave just yet, don’t worry,” Elissa added. “I know, I just said, but…I think we just need a little more time, you know?”

“Good,” Anders smiled. “With everything you’ve done for Ferelden, I’d surely hope Alistair would understand.”

“I’m sure he does, yeah,” Elissa nodded. “So I need to find a way not to feel so guilty about it when I don’t need to, or some shit like that, right?”

“Nailed it,” Varric snickered, and Anders only nodded along his agreement.

“Umm, Aveline,” Elissa started again after a short pause. “Would you be interested in going for coffee or something sometime this week? You know, if you’d be up for…”

Aveline seemed to wait for Elissa to finish her thought, giving her a few seconds before answering with an easy, “Of course. Thursday’s good for me, if that works.”

“It does,” Elissa replied. “Thank you.”

“As Anders said, you’re in _very_ good company,” Fenris chimed in. “Although, I’m still not sure some of the _rest_ of this company doesn’t have their own mess to talk about…”

Hawke and Anders sighed as one when Fenris looked at them, as though he even needed to.

What followed, however, was definitely necessary. Anders decided to talk, spending the rest of the meeting reiterating all he and Hawke had discussed once they had finally started speaking to each other again. He told them more about Karl and all his doubts and his guilt, and Hawke could see that doing so made a difference.

He had the same aura of a weight being lifted as Elissa had, which was one Hawke knew was temporary and would have to be well-maintained in order to not unravel completely. She imagined she had it, too, though, when she repeated what she had drunkenly revealed to Elissa in the Hanged Man’s restrooms. It ended with a particularly emotional round of goodbyes, with hugs longer and firmer than they normally were.

And once they were back upstairs, they decided the night had already been long and draining enough, and they opted to skip the couch in favour of the bedroom. They changed and curled into bed without a word, their bodies held close together.

Sleep was never easy and the night was yet rough, but it had returned to its usual uncomfortable monotony, for as much as they both hated having to appreciate that.

They were safe, though. They were together, and they were warm, and they were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I know it's a fuckton of exposition and I did my best to keep it natural and quasi-conversational, and it was honestly just _very_ difficult for me to try to translate the Warden's story to this story in this manner. But of course, as I've said before, it's an AU, just go with it.
> 
> And yes, I will forever be this salty that Eamon survives DA:O regardless of player choices. Because he is The Worst™ (sorry not sorry).
> 
> Shoutout to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord), too, though, for the brilliant idea I didn't use but loved way too much not to at least mention of making Zevran's role in this world start out as a deep web hitman hired by Loghain.
> 
> And you know, this here trashlord's own personal landfill is always follow-able on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com).


	73. Don't Make It Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a bit of tension and anxiety, dysfunctional family/strained relationships, notes of ableist Chantry bullshit, vague allusions to varying mental illness episodes
> 
> This one's not _so_ bad in terms of need for warnings, but it did get very long and there are some tense tonal shifts, and it is _very_ music-heavy, even by this fic's standards.
> 
> ["All We Ever Wanted Was Everything" by Bauhaus](https://youtu.be/RWZFa7W-kkY)   
>  ["Heroes" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/Tgcc5V9Hu3g)   
>  ["The National Anthem" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/2bGPPBoh9E8)   
>  ["Car Crash" by Our Lady Peace](https://youtu.be/qw1QOrzZYbI)   
>  ["Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars](https://youtu.be/OPf0YbXqDm0)   
>  ["Paranoid Android" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/fHiGbolFFGw)   
>  ["Immigraniada" by Gogol Bordello](https://youtu.be/aKpgb2WrGo0)   
>  ["Angelene" by PJ Harvey](https://youtu.be/_f7CWCZIqvY)   
>  ["Marrow" by Ani DiFranco](https://youtu.be/111KaJeRhNY)   
>  ["O Children" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds](https://youtu.be/HtrKPsUlM0E)   
>  ["Wild Horses" by Bishop Briggs](https://youtu.be/bjgJSlVZzMk)   
>  ["Evaporated" by Ben Folds Five](https://youtu.be/bFBnFyk6VoU)

It was late afternoon on Saturday and Hawke was sitting beside Anders on one of her mother’s couches smoking a cigarette while holding her free hand firmly around Anders’s.

She’d gotten a call Thursday evening noting that it had been some time and asking if they’d like to come over for lunch during the weekend, which they figured they might use as an excuse to bring up their most recent news. They hadn’t said a word, though, neither did Carver say anything for them. There didn’t seem to be any reason for it, but somehow the moment simply didn’t come.

“Oh dear,” her mother scowled and turned towards her and then cocked her heads towards the television. The news was on, and in that moment they were reporting on gang activity in Darktown.

“Oh mother, but _that’s_ why it’s so cheap,” Hawke laughed to no one’s amusement.

“You _always_ hear about that Carta down there, Trista,” her mother sighed. “I just wish you might consider…oh, never mind…”

“I’m afraid that one’s on me, I suppose,” Anders interjected with a smirk. He was growing more and more comfortable being in that house every time they came back, appearing to make even more progress than Hawke herself.

Fortunately, that must have been enough, as Hawke’s mother only flashed a quick grin in Anders’s direction and dropped the subject.

There was an awkward moment, a further reminder to Hawke that despite all the progress that had been made between she and her mother, she still could not yet imagine setting foot within a mile radius of that house without Anders there to hold her hand. The moment passed and far more quickly than it ever would have before, but it was all too familiar at the same time, a discomforting reminder of what had been.

“How come we still haven’t seen Norah over here?” Hawke teased, breaking the odd sense of stillness. “Or have you driven her off already?”

“More like because _your_ best friend’s an asshole who never lets her get a break,” Carver retorted. “Tell that sod to hire more help already, he might actually listen to you.”

“It can’t be _that_ bad, there _are_ labour laws, you know,” Hawke laughed. “Although, to be fair, I am _mildly_ terrified of what Varric looks like as a boss, but you know…”

Carver met her eyes with a narrow stare and he didn’t need to say anything from there. The language of “I’m not ready to deal with bringing Mother into this” was one she was quite fluent in, and one she was still learning her brother also spoke.

“Anyway,” she started on a subject change as she broke away from Anders just enough to put out her cigarette. She shook her head at herself and reached for another. “I assume we’ll _all_ see you at the Hanged Man tonight, right? I know Elissa’s interested in swapping war stories.”

“Maker’s balls, what have you been telling people?” Carver chuckled. “I don’t have any fucking _actual_ war stories, and _definitely_ nothing that could possibly impress _her.”_

“Are you talking about the Hero of Ferelden again?” Their mother perked up. “Carver, you didn’t tell me—”

“Turns out she doesn’t like to be called that,” Carver interrupted defensively. “‘Hero of Ferelden,’ I mean. It’s a bit of a sore subject.”

“Oh Maker, of course,” she backed down instantly, and Hawke took an especially long drag from her cigarette in an effort to bite back her obvious bitterness over her mother having that much apparent respect for someone she’d never even met.

“Yeah, though, I’ll be there,” Carver added, and it almost seemed as though he sensed it, as though perhaps, to some extent, he understood. “I’ll see you and fucking Thom Yorke over there again tonight for sure. So you have plenty of chances to get tired of me today, don’t worry.”

“Oh dear,” their mother noted towards the television again, and Hawke looked down at her cigarette rather than take notice of what she might have been reacting to, until Anders did the same.

“Oh _fuck,”_ he said, muttered quietly under his breath so only she could hear, but his eyes wandered towards the television, as well, which prompted Hawke to redirect her attention.

“Any and all precautions are being taken in response to these _vicious_ rumours,” the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall’s Chantry told the camera. “We will _not_ condone such action, and we do _not_ negotiate with terrorists.”

The camera turned to focus on the reporter covering the story, whose name Hawke did not regard when it flashed on the screen below her face. “The rumours of another protest from the Collective Underground, a known terrorist organisation _infamous_ for inciting violence at their so-called ‘protests,’ have many officials on-edge here around the Courtyards. The group openly claims their agenda is to help those _they_ say have been victimised by the Chantry and the Circle system, resting _their_ sympathies with the criminally insane and prioritising the, quote, _freedom_ of some of the most _dangerous_ men and women in Thedas…”

Hawke couldn’t help herself by that point. She set down her cigarette into the ashtray beside her and then stood up, walked over to the end table where her mother had placed the remote controls, and switched off the television.

“Trista,” her mother said tersely once she sat firmly back down and reached for her cigarette once more, making it her sole priority. Anders was quiet and even Carver didn’t appear to know how to proceed.

She tried to let the smoke and repetition distract her, but hyperfocusing as she was only made it that much easier to catch the subtle shake in her hands. She hadn’t actually realised the news clip had made her quite so angry. She assumed Anders must have felt the same but she couldn’t bring herself to look, too anxious about the tension at hand as well as still fearful of giving away too much.

“Way to be all fucking cisnormative about it,” Carver huffed, apparently picking out the “men and women” line in his blatant effort to cover for her, one both of them must have known was in vain. At the same time, however, she had to force back a smile at the pride she felt over all of it, of both his quick need to step in as well as the specific criticism he used in his attempt. 

“You tell ‘em, brother,” she chuckled in spite of herself and flashed him a glance with a short smirk without taking enough time to see if he might have caught it.

“It’s such a shame, really,” their mother continued, anyway, just as anyone could have predicted she would. Hawke felt Anders start to crush her hand, and she eagerly reciprocated. The tension surrounding them was palpable, waiting for her mother to speak again while mentally reaching for an exit plan in anticipation of everything going to shit from there.

Her mother shook her head and looked as though she was sorting through her own words for a few seconds, which did not ease anyone’s nerves.

“Maker preserve us,” she continued quietly, and she sat forward when she must have had her thoughts compiled. “I can’t condone violence but really, I don’t know why the Chantry’s so surprised people might voice their, ah, _qualms_ with the system as it is. It’s not right, what they do in those Circles. Nothing about any of it is right.”

Hawke sighed heavily, her relief a bit off at the realisation that she should have expected that reaction from her mother. The person her mother had become after they’d lost her father made it so easy to forget that she had knowingly loved and run away with a Circle escapee, and it was refreshing to see that side of her so long hidden come even that slightly towards the surface.

Her mother shifted towards her and awkwardly cleared her throat before she continued yet again.

“Anders, dear,” she started to everyone’s surprise, and his grip tightened even moreso when he perked up to meet her eyes. “How much has Trista told you about my Malcolm?”

He automatically looked to Hawke, who nodded to indicate that it was okay to tell the truth, and he replied with a succinct, “Everything, probably.”

“Good,” she followed. “Good, I’m glad you know. Trista seems very happy with you and if you’re going to be a part of this family, it’s best you turn over all the dirt you can ahead of time. Maker knows we have enough buried under there.”

“Mother, you’re being weird,” Hawke noted. She didn’t know why she said anything, she knew the news story had been all the prompt her mother would have needed to bring up her father’s history, but something didn’t sit right all the same.

“You’re the one who just threw a minor tantrum over the television,” her mother retorted.

“For fuck’s sake, Mother,” she sighed. _“That_ was not a fucking tantrum. And forgive me if I don’t like seeing my people so poorly represented by the mainstream media all the time.”

“Your people?” The wheels were turning behind her mother’s eyes again, and it didn’t feel any less foreboding than it had before. “Are you referring simply to the mentally ill, or to this _organisation,_ as well?”

“There’s nothing _simple_ about it,” she scoffed, deliberately evading the question.

“That’s _not_ an answer,” her mother noted, another move she should have seen coming. “Which I suppose is an answer all its own, isn’t it?”

“Mother…”

“Have they gotten more violent, though?” She looked more concerned than anything else; her lack of judgment should not have been so disturbing, but it was further uncharted territory between them and the path beyond was unclear. “The Underground themselves, I mean. I just worry about you, dear.”

“What in the Void is even happening right now,” Hawke stated flatly. “No, Mother, they’re not the ones inciting violence, although even if they _were,_ I—wait a fucking second, what do you mean ‘more’?”

“Oh, Maker,” her mother mused. She also started to smile, though, which was even more confusing. “Your father would be so proud. He was a member, himself. He never demonstrated, of course, since we’d already had you by the time we learned about them, but he took on the smaller jobs like photocopying fliers and literature, things of that nature. He wanted to help, too, and he _desperately_ dreamed of a future where you and your sister wouldn’t have to hide your problems but actually get _real_ help for them.”

“Fuck,” Carver whispered just loudly enough. “I’d no idea…”

“He didn’t want you to,” she admitted. “Any of you. He didn’t ever want to risk his involvement reflecting on his family in any way. He promised me he used an alias for his work with them, but he never told me what is was, said it was better for me if I didn’t know. He’d be terrified you found them, too, Trista, but he really would be every bit as proud, I’m sure. Are you a part of this, as well, Anders?”

“Me?” He looked to Hawke again, who offered him the same reassuring nod. “Umm, yes. I am.”

“Watch out for her,” she grinned. “I’m not even going to ask how she got that scar.”

“It sounds like you already fucking know, anyway,” Hawke mumbled under her breath, taken aback that it was the very first time she had mentioned it.

“Someday, Anders, I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me more of your story,” she noted, and Hawke cringed in preparation for an internal retreat from him, but it did not come.

“It’s fairly familiar to you already, Leandra,” Anders said. He sounded almost confident, but it was also evident in his tone that he was going to leave it there for the time being.

“Are you ready to get going, love?” Hawke asked after an intentionally short pause. She was still holding a cigarette, although there was nothing left of it save for the filter, which she dropped gracelessly into the ashtray and stood back up before Anders could answer.

They made their excuses and their promises of doing this again sometime as they said their goodbyes, and they silently exited the house and got into Anders’s car and pulled away.

“Well, that was… _weird,”_ Hawke said. She didn’t know how else to put it or yet how to process it.

“I don’t know,” Anders replied. He sounded calm, at ease. It had been good for him, then. That was something, at least. “It was honestly nice to get her approval like that.”

“You learn something new every day, I suppose,” she chuckled. “Because, well… _wow…”_

“She definitely has me figured out, I’d say,” he noted, no chagrin to it whatsoever. “At least as much as anyone can. I’m sure there are still some things that don’t quite add up, but I doubt _anything_ about me could possibly surprise her at this point.”

“You’re probably right about that much,” Hawke laughed. “I’m sure connecting you to Elissa will still be a fun explanation whenever it comes, but you know. Hmm, I wonder if she’ll expect me to take your last name when she finds out what it is.”

_“All we ever wanted was everything, all we ever got was cold…”_

“She seems the type, not gonna lie,” Anders smiled. “Of course, that much is entirely up to you.”

“I hadn’t really given it much thought,” she shrugged. “I mean, I’d have to imagine that name means a lot to you, doesn’t it? It means _freedom_ at the end of the day for you, yeah? Regardless of whatever its actual origins are.”

_“Get up, eat jelly sandwich bars and barbed wire, squash every week into a day…”_

“It does, yeah,” he answered. “Although I imagine yours means a lot to you, as well, with how close you were to your father and…yeah…”

“True,” she acknowledged, hoping to cut off the melancholy his thought swiftly took on. “Perhaps we should just leave things as they are, then.”

_“The sound of drums is calling, the sound of the drum has called, flash of youth shout out of darkness, factory town…”_

“I might hyphenate, honestly,” he told her after a long but comfortable pause. “We’ll see how much paperwork’s involved, I guess.”

He laughed and she laughed with him, and it was entirely unclear whether or not he was serious, but she followed it, anyway. “Dr. Anders Cousland-Hawke? Hmm, I’ve certainly heard worse names.”

“Hawke-Cousland,” he corrected without missing a beat, indicating that he truly was serious. “It has a much smoother flow to it that way.”

_“I, I wish you could swim like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim, though nothing, nothing will keep us together, we can beat them forever and ever, oh we can be heroes just for one day…”_

She narrowed her eyes slightly at the music, the tone of the lyrics in such sharp contrast to the tone of their conversation it made her feel genuinely uncomfortable, at least for a moment until she tried to brush it off, to ignore it and turn back to Anders.

“You know, it really does, though,” she smirked. “Whatever you want to do is up to you, but I have to admit that I do like the sound of it.”

“It’s your call, love,” he noted again. “I really don’t care so long as we know where it stands, no matter what our names are.”

_“I, I will be king and you, you will be queen, though nothing will drive them away, we can beat them just for one day, we can be heroes just for one day…”_

“We should start planning after Aveline and Donnic get their fucking extravaganza out of the way,” Hawke chuckled after a pause. “It honestly seems a little pointless to do anything _real_ beforehand, but…”

“Like tell your mother?” Anders said lightly, but she wasn’t sure how to read it, if there was anything heavier behind it.

“Love, I…I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right, or…something, shit, I don’t…I don’t know…”

_“And you, you can be mean and I, I’ll drink all the time ‘cause we’re lovers and that is a fact, yes we’re lovers and that is a fact, though nothing will keep us together, we could steal time just for one day…”_

She reached forward to skip the rest of the song, the words suddenly getting to her more than she wanted, however irrational it felt. She leaned back into her seat as heavy bass lines replaced David Bowie’s voice, and Anders softly chuckled.

“It’s alright, love,” he said. “I _do_ still remember whose idea all this was to begin with, don’t worry. I suppose I just assumed it would come up.”

He hadn’t been sleeping well, even after their group session and how much that legitimately had helped. She knew it could very well be entirely unrelated to anything that he’d been waking up in the middle of the night so often, plagued by nightmares and panic attacks that brought him to shaking or tears or both. It happened without recent cause, but at the same time it made her feel like she should have been doing more to help whenever the opportunity arose.

“I’m still getting used to trying to do this with her at all, love,” she explained. “I know I should be a bit more accustomed to it by now, but it’s just…it’s still hard. I’m working on it, love, really, but I guess it’s still a bit…distracting.”

“I know,” he said warmly. “I know, love.”

_“Everyone, everyone around here, everyone is so near, it’s holding on, it’s holding on…”_

“You seem to be doing better with it than me, at least,” she noted with a smile. “It’s good to see.”

“I suppose I am,” he remarked. “It’s an interesting experience, that’s for sure. I guess I’ve just really missed having a mother.”

_“Everyone, everyone is so near, everyone has got the fear, it’s holding on, it’s holding on…”_

“You have Lirene, too,” she said uncertainly. He didn’t even sound sad when he said it, only very matter-of-fact.

“I do,” he agreed. “She never cooks for us, though.”

Hawke decided to let it go, although she wondered if she should try to find a way to bring that idea up to Lirene at work. She tried to understand Anders’s perspective, as foreign as it was to her, and she knew how casual he tried to sound at that last comment was a desperate attempt at a mask. She wanted to mention all Lirene had done for them, perhaps even try to reminisce about Satinalia, but she didn’t press. They were almost home, anyway, and she intended to curl up with him and just relax for as long as they could get away with before it was time to leave for karaoke.

***

_“Tired and jaded, this road is unsafe, have you been there, have you been there…”_

Elissa was the first to sing, and while her choice was one that instantly brought down the room, it did highlight how stunningly beautiful her voice was, as both Anders and Zevran had pointed out previously, able to effortlessly handle the highs and trills required to do the song justice.

_“But time is on your side, you’re too tired to wait, are you listening, are you listening, they want you to know, they want you to stay but it’s too much to take so you’re running, running away, ooh…”_

Everyone who was going to do so had put in their selections, and the group had fallen into their new routine of frustratedly waiting for Carver to stop chatting up Norah so she’d take their drink orders.

“Oh, but they’re so cute,” Merrill smiled. “It’s sweet, I can wait a few extra minutes.”

_“It’s more than I can bear…”_

“All I have to say is that if he weren’t your brother, Hawke, I’d murder him for distracting my best server like this,” Varric said firmly, which no one even pretended to take seriously.

“I’m actually almost inclined to agree with you, Varric,” Fenris chimed in. “But I’m a bitter old fuck and so are you, so how about we let the kids get their kicks.”

_“Are you trembling, are you trembling…”_

“Zev, your girlfriend's depressing me,” Isabela chuckled upon her sudden appearance. “I’m moving you up because you’re much more fun.”

“Oh, but she depresses with the voice of angel, does she not?” Zevran smiled, and Isabela nodded and smiled. “And of course, I am happy to be of service in any case, my friend.”

_“They’ll wake up today to the papers that say ‘oh well,’ it was too hard to tell…”_

“Oh drinks soon, then, lovely,” Isabela smiled wider once Carver sat back down. “Order me a whiskey ginger while I go do work…or whatever we call this.”

_“Ooh, it’s more than I can bear…”_

She enthusiastically trotted back to her booth and Carver shook his head. “I can never tell how much is an act and how much is just Isabela.”

“The answer is yes,” Fenris chuckled.

“Honestly, Fenris…yeah,” Merrill added. “She puts on a bit more of a character when she’s working, says it’s part of the gig, but it’s every bit as much of a mask as it is _her._ ‘Fake it ‘til you make it,’ is how she phrases it.”

_“It’s more than I can bear, more, more, more, ooh…”_

“That is actually a _phenomenal_ idea,” Anders noted.

“But you’re never going to try it, are you?” Fenris teased.

“Probably not, no,” Anders shrugged, and no one said any more on the subject once Zevran and Elissa switching places was enough of a distraction.

“Well, this certainly _is_ different,” Hawke laughed as their music started. “I didn’t even realise they so much as _knew_ anything outside of Depeche Mode, much less…”

“Oh, you know,” Elissa laughed along. “They know what they like, but they also just like to have fun sometimes.”

She was bobbing her head in time with the beat, and Hawke could only think of it as adorable.

_“This hit, that ice cold, Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold…”_

Zevran and Isabela were already dancing together at her station, gracefully moving their hips and their feet with perfect rhythm.

Norah apologised when she arrived at the table and was met with only mild ridicule, all of it in good fun that she had no problem returning.

_“Livin’ it up in the city, got Chucks on with Saint Laurent, gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty…”_

Everyone laughed when they did press two of their own fingertips to their lips after that line, and Isabela picked up another microphone to supply backup vocals.

_“I’m too hot (hot damn), called a police and a fireman, I’m too hot (hot damn), make a dragon wanna retire, man…”_

“It really is going to be so sad to see you two leave,” Anders spoke up.

“It’ll probably only be a couple more weeks at most,” Elissa said. “We’ve honestly been pushing it back as far as we can, but Alistair mentioned the other day that it’s only a matter of time before my absence becomes a country-wide controversy, _and_ Zevran and I need to start working out moving them out of Antiva City, which I’m sure will be a whole _thing._ I’m tempted to try to convince them to sell all their belongings and start from scratch in Highever. Fuck, even burning all of their possessions and starting over might be cheaper and more efficient.”

_“Girls hit your hallelujah, girls hit your hallelujah, girls hit your hallelujah, ‘cause uptown funk gon’ give it to you, ‘cause uptown funk gon’ give it to you, ‘cause uptown funk gon’ give it you, Saturday night and we in the spot, don’t believe me, just watch…”_

“You’ll figure it out,” Anders nodded. “It’ll all work out, I’m sure.”

“That’s a nice look you’ve got going for you, by the way,” Elissa smiled and gestured her hand around her own eyes in reference to Anders’s, which he’d done up again in black eyeliner that he still couldn’t quite get the hang of, leaving his lines thick and somewhat smudged, but it suited him well. Hawke had laughed at how much better at it she was when he had far steadier hands, but his retort was simply that she had more practice.

“He does look good like that, doesn’t he,” Hawke didn’t actually ask, subtly biting her lip and hoping no one noticed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Trista, why,” Carver also did not ask.

“Shut the fuck up, Junior,” Varric snickered. “You’ve officially moved yourself over into the ‘no room to talk’ category, alright. And to make it even worse, delaying our drinks in the process!”

“Not even sorry,” Norah grinned as she started setting down everyone’s orders. “What, I saw that you saw me, I know you timed that on purpose.”

_“Stop, wait a minute, fill my cup, put some liquor in it…”_

“Okay, no, I am liking this,” Aveline noted. “Anyone who’ll call Varric out on his shit is good in my book.”

Varric shook his head and turned towards Norah. “Might I remind you—yet _again,_ serah—that I’m the one that pays you?”

“All that much more respect to you, Norah,” Aveline interjected. “Don’t let the bastard get you down.”

“It is a good look, though, Anders, definitely,” Merrill smiled and picked up her cocktail.

“You’re in a good mood, Daisy,” Varric remarked as he pulled out a cigarette. “What are you holding out on us?”

_“I’m too hot (hot damn), called a police and a fireman…”_

“Nothing,” she smirked.

“Bullshit,” Varric said quickly, and Merrill only laughed.

_“I’m too hot (hot damn), make a dragon wanna retire, man, I’m too hot (hot damn), bitch, say my name, you know who I am…”_

“I’ve got some things in the works, alright?” She was clearly putting forth a real effort to hold back whatever it was she wasn’t saying, and Varric appeared ready to pounce before Fenris stepped in before he could start.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure there’s a reason she’s keeping lowkey, calm the fuck down,” Fenris scowled.

“Something to do with the Dalish?” Hawke asked excitedly, and Merrill nodded.

“Oh, okay,” Merrill burst so quickly. “Isabela’s the only person I’ve told so far because nothing’s official yet, but…remember that thing I was working on that I thought would finally have made Marethari proud of me? Well, umm, that might actually be happening. I’ve gotten my hands on some shards that would have belonged to an eluvian, which is this sort of…mirror, but the mythology states they had magical capabilities, like travel between worlds. They were very important to our culture in ancient times, though, and no one’s seen any more than scattered pieces of one for at least a thousand years, so I’ve been constructing my own version and now it looks like _I’m_ going to be written about by other historians!”

“Merrill, that’s amazing!” Elissa’s eyes lit up. “If you are ever in Ferelden, please call me, my friend Velanna would _love_ to talk to you, you can ask Anders…”

Hawke smiled, remembering Anders saying exactly that the first time Velanna had come up in conversation.

“Oh yes,” he confirmed. “That is wonderful news, indeed, Merrill, congratulations!”

“Oh, well, like I said, nothing is official yet—”

“Nonsense, Daisy,” Varric laughed. “Next round of drinks is on me! Oh wait…”

“Ass,” Hawke, Aveline, Fenris, and Carver replied.

_“Uptown funk you up, uptown funk you up (say what), uptown funk you up, uptown funk you up…”_

“Oh, by the way, Aveline,” Merrill spoke up again, “Isabela and I both have our dresses, and do let us know if we can help in any way.”

“Oh fuck me,” Hawke sighed. “You mean for the wed—what am I saying, of course you do. Yeah, I still need to do that.”

“I’ll pick you up after work one of these days and we can go together,” Aveline chuckled. “So I can babysit your ass and we can have some one on one time. Everyone wins.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hawke smirked, and Anders rose to the sound of his name.

“Just because you had to try to talk shit, Carver,” he laughed as he walked away and Zevran took his place.

“Have fun up there?” Elissa teased, and Zevran only nodded with a wide smile.

_“Please could you stop the noise, I’m trying to get some rest from all the unborn chicken voices in my head, what’s that, what’s that…”_

“Tell your boyfriend he’s got an odd idea of retaliation,” Carver mused. “He acts like he’s not typically the highlight of the night or something.”

“There’s also Isabela,” Hawke pointed out. It was true, Isabela’s voice was absolutely not to be ignored, and it made perfect sense that she would choose a career that would easily allow her to so frequently make public use of it. “But _still,_ come on, Carver, we both know that no matter how many times we tell him he’s amazing, he’s never going to believe it.”

“Fuck, you two really _are_ perfect for each other…”

Carver shook his head with a smile and lit a cigarette, and Hawke bit back an awkward laugh.

“Carver, did you just,” she let out with something between that strange laugh and a strained exhale. “It’s almost like you were trying to tell me something there.”

“Yeah, sod off,” he said warmly.

_“When I am king, you will be first against the wall with your opinion which is of no consequence at all, what’s that, what’s that…”_

“Your mother must be so thrilled,” Aveline laughed, as well.

“She is, in her own way,” Hawke shrugged. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” Carver sighed. “What she said.”

“Anyway, how _is_ wedding planning coming along?” Hawke turned towards Aveline.

“Pretty well, actually,” she replied. “Still trying to lock down a venue and figure out the guest list, but realising this is probably going to be a much smaller production than we’d feared, so that’s something.”

“I hope you will consider throwing a couple of invitations our way,” Zevran chimed in, their voice laden with warmth and utter charm.

“You both are more than welcome to join us,” Aveline smiled. “Just let us know where to send the official invites, alright?”

“Absolutely, my friend,” Zevran replied cheerfully.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Donnic spoke up quickly. “Hawke, am I going to need to drag Anders out whenever Aveline does the same for you?”

“Yeah, probably,” Hawke laughed. “He _is_ better at time management than I am, but you know how we are with…you know…life…”

“Donnic, you’re so quiet,” Elissa noted, and her eyes instantly lit up to indicate she regretted saying it out loud. “Not that that’s a bad thing or, or a criticism, just an observation, umm…”

“No, I am, it’s alright,” he assured her. “It’s cool to be a nerd _now,_ sure, but not really when I was growing up, and old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Speaking of nerd,” Fenris smiled, “I started watching that one anime you told me about, and I am _very_ angry with you now.”

“Oh, Maker,” Donnic chuckled. “Which one?”

“Cowboy Bebop,” Fenris replied. “I have some _very_ strange emotions about Faye…”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s fine, it’s _really_ good,” Fenris cut in. “I may just have to pace myself more than I anticipated.”

_“Rain down, rain down, come on, rain down on me from a great height, from a great height…”_

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Varric remarked, and Elissa was obviously curious, as well.

“Memory repression is a thing that I’ve struggled with,” Fenris stated bluntly, and it looked like Hawke was not the only one surprised by how freely he spoke in that moment. “It’s not the same at all in her situation as it is with mine, but there is a storyline of a similar theme with the otherwise _entirely_ unrelatable character of Faye Valentine.”

“Nerds,” was all Varric followed with, but his tone made it clear that in place of knowing precisely what the right thing to say could be, that was simply his ever so laconic version of offering support.

_“Rain down, rain down (that’s it, sir, you’re leaving, the crackle of pigskin), come on, rain down on me (the dust and the screaming, the yuppies networking) from a great height (the panic, the vomit, the panic, the vomit), god loves his children, god loves his children, yeah…”_

Carver was called up as Anders walked back down, and Elissa greeted him enthusiastically.

“Oh, Anders, I just remembered,” she said just as soon as he sat down. “I talked to Isabela the other day about making a track for one I really want to do with you, if you’re up for it.”

_“Immigrada immigraniada, immigrada immigraniada-da, immigrada immigraniada, we’re coming rougher every time…”_

“Dare I ask?” Anders laughed softly, obviously about to agree to her offer regardless.

“Eh, you know what, I’m sure you know it,” Elissa smiled. “I’ll go put it in.”

“Ten sovereign it’s ‘Where the Wild Roses Grow’ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds,” Anders chuckled when she got up to submit it to the queue.

_“We’re coming rougher every time…”_

“He weirdly pulls this off, you know,” Aveline smiled, pointing towards Carver. “Nice choice, too.”

“Being a Fereldan native in the Guard getting you down again, Red?” Varric asked, and Aveline’s scowl was enough of an answer.

“I’m so sorry, Aveline,” Merrill said. “This city is such an awful place sometimes.”

“It’s okay, Merrill,” Aveline responded. “Don’t worry about me, it happens, and you’ve got your own thing to focus on right now.”

“And your thing _is_ way better, Daisy,” Varric laughed.

“No one asked you, Varric,” Merrill teased just before Aveline could open her mouth to undoubtedly say something similar, and Donnic quietly wrapped an arm around his fiancée, while Elissa returned in almost that same second.

_“In corridors full of tear gas, our destinies jammed every day like deleted scenes from Kafka flushed down the bureaucratic drain, but if you give me the invitation to hear the bells of freedom chime, to hell with your double standard, we’re coming rougher every time, we’re coming rougher, we’re coming rougher, we’re coming rougher every time…”_

“I suspect there’s going to be a bit more unrest with us following your next, umm, _thing,_ though,” Aveline added. “Don’t worry, I know better than to try to talk you out of it this time, and I don’t blame your little group thing for people around here being so full of such utter fucking bullshit, but I heard a lot of noise around the office about how we ‘never had these kinds of problems before all these damn Fereldans got here’ or whatever the fuck last time.”

“What the fuck,” Merrill huffed and shook her head along with everyone else at the table.

_“All those who made it and quickly jaded, to them we got nothing to say, our immigrada, immigraniada, for them it’s Don Quixote’s kind of way, but if you give me the invitation to hear the bells of freedom chime, to hell with your double standards, we’re coming rougher every time…”_

Hawke looked to Anders, who was mostly stone faced at the exchange. From what he’d told her, what Aveline said wasn’t even entirely untrue, as he had apparently found his way into Kirkwall’s chapter of the Underground and made it into so much more than it was before he joined, that he was, in fact, largely the one responsible for getting it organised and leading it into action. She wasn’t going to say anything if he wasn’t, of course, but it made her so proud all the same.

_“We’re coming rougher every time, we’re coming rougher every time, immigrada immigraniada, immigrada immigraniada, immigrada immigraniada-da, immigrada immigraniada, we’re coming rougher every time…”_

Hawke lit a cigarette, unsure if she regretted it or not as soon as she did. She’d given Isabela a small list of songs and told her to surprise her with her first round pick, her mood yet in a strange place, still a typical feeling after spending any time with her mother. She wasn’t even sure what order the rotation was going, when she’d actually be called to sing, herself, and there was a greater nervous anticipation to the idea of her turn than was usual for her.

_“Frozen eyes, sweaty back, my family’s sleeping on a railroad track, all my life I pack, unpack, but man, I got to earn this buck, I gotta pay representation to be accepted in a nation where after efforts of a hero welcome start again from zero, it’s a book of our true stories, true stories that can’t be denied, it’s more than true, it actually happened, it’s more than true, it actually happened, it’s more than true, it actually happened, we’re coming rougher every time, rougher every time…”_

“You went to your mother’s today, didn’t you?” Varric asked, which caused Hawke, Anders, and Aveline to laugh.

“Am I that obvious?” She sighed into her cigarette.

“Just a little bit,” he said lightly.

“Well, fuck me,” she chuckled quietly.

“How is that for you, Blondie?” Varric put out a cigarette and lit another, prompting Hawke to focus further on her own.

“It’s not so bad,” Anders shrugged. “She likes me, so that’s something, at least.”

“It is,” Merrill added with a smile.

Carver finished up and Hawke was, much to her disdain, next to be called, so she set down her cigarette without even bothering to put it out and made her way to the stand with an odd anxiety.

“Ah, fuck me,” she whispered to herself upon realising which song she’d gotten, although she sure wasn’t sure why.

_“My first name Angelene, prettiest mess you’ve ever seen, love for money is my sin, any man calls I’ll let him in…”_

She didn’t always choose her music based on her mood, of course, none of them did, but it was a rather common theme to do so all the same, and for some reason she felt especially nervous about this one coming across as one such example.

_“Rose is my colour and white pretty mouth and green my eyes, I see men come and go but there’ll be one who’ll collect my soul and come to me…”_

There being one to collect her soul had an obvious real-life point of reference, though.

_“Two thousand miles away, he walks upon the coast, two thousand miles away, it lays open like a road…”_

Anders only watched her, just like he always did, and she was always caught by how gorgeous he was in the dim tavern lights—or anywhere, for that matter. There was an interesting dynamic added to the aesthetic when they were there, though, the way the low overhead lights combined with the LEDs coming in through the windows and scattered across the walls, how those variations glimmered off of all of his jewellery, and now that he had started wearing make-up…

_“Dear god, life ain’t kind, people getting born and dying but I’ve heard there’s joy untold, lays on that open road in front of me…”_

He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, a feeling that grew stronger every single day with no signs of halting. She really didn’t understand why she hadn’t said anything to her mother.

_“Two thousand miles away, he walks upon the coast, two thousand miles away lays open like a road, it seems so far away, I see men come and go, two thousand miles until I reach that open road, my first name is Angelene…”_

She was glad it wasn’t too long of a song as she switched places with Merrill, and she didn’t even bother to check if there was anything salvageable of the last to instead pull out a fresh cigarette.

“Yeah,” Varric snickered. “You definitely saw your mother today.”

_“The answer came like a shot in the back while you were running from your lesson, which might explain why years later all you could remember was the terror of the question, plus you weren’t listening, you were stockpiling canned goods, making a bomb shelter of our basement and I can’t believe you let the moral go by while you were soaking in the product placement…”_

“Oh hey,” Carver started after a few moments, his own voice laced with a vague awkwardness that would most likely never cease to be uncomfortable to hear out of him. “How come you didn’t tell Mother about—”

“Ah, fuck me,” Hawke said again. “Probably for the same reason you still haven’t properly introduced her to Norah.”

“Touché,” he conceded easily.

_“Where was your conscience, where was your consciousness, where did you put all those letters you wrote to yourself but could not address…”_

“Wait, really?” Varric apparently could not resist. “I’m sure there’s only one thing Junior could possibly be referring to, so…”

“Fucking…just stop, okay,” Hawke snapped, sounding much too terse. “I don’t know, probably just because she is the person that she is, and…I don’t know, alright?”

“Are you okay, Anders?” Elissa asked, and Hawke looked to see how truly uncomfortable he appeared.

_“I’m a good kisser and you’re a fast learner and that kind of thing could float us for a pretty long time…”_

“Look what you’ve done, asshole,” Fenris remarked. “Now you’ve gone and made it weird.”

“Everything is always weird when it involves my mother, believe me,” Carver replied.

“Truer fucking words,” Aveline agreed.

_“I got tossed out the window of love’s El Camino and I shattered into a shower of sparks on the curb, you were smoking me, weren’t you, between your yellow fingers, you just inhaled and exhaled without saying a word…”_

“I’m fine,” Anders said. “It’s fine.”

His voice was monotoned and Hawke felt it vibrate in her chest.

“Actually, love, wait…” Hawke had a realisation to offer, thinking back to their brief conversation in the car and how much it really did mean to her. _“You_ still haven’t told Lirene, have you? She hasn’t said anything to me about it and it absolutely does not sound like a real thing that she’d keep quiet about if she knew.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” he answered. “To be fair, you see _far_ more of her than I do.”

“Yeah, but she was yours first, you know?” She picked up the cider she’d been neglecting while she tapped the ashes off her cigarette, and put the bottle down and returned the cigarette to her lips in an equally fluid motion.

“I’m not sure Lirene belongs to either one of us, love,” Anders chuckled.

_“There’s a smorgasbord of unspoken poisons, a whole childhood of potions that are all bottled up, and so one by one I am dusting off labels, I am uncorking bottles and filling up cups…”_

“You know what I mean, love.” She smiled softly, hoping to radiate warmth, affection. “I just…I honestly kind of feel like she deserves to know first, and I really do love her, but in her case it felt more like your news to tell.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean, love,” he nodded. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“And I’ll call my mother,” she followed. “It might be better we didn’t say anything in person, anyway. Fuck only knows how she’s actually going to react and I like the idea of some distance between us, honestly. _Lirene,_ on the other hand, though—I actually kind of want to see her face.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know how your mother will react?” He looked suddenly nervous, not at all her intention, and fortunately Carver swooped in on that one right away.

“It’s just like my sister said before, Anders,” he started firmly, almost bitterly. “It’s the same reason I still haven’t properly introduced her to Norah. She’s trying, sure, but she’s judgmental and she’s reactionary, _and_ she’s always been way shitter towards Trista. Don’t worry, it’s nothing against you. She fucking loves _you,_ but—”

“But she’s never actually trusted _me,_ and I’m honestly still just a little afraid of what her impulse response might be,” Hawke finished. “Sure, it could be something along the lines of, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, that Anders seems like a good kid…’”

She raised the pitch of her voice to a comical degree to impersonate her mother, sounding absolutely nothing like her in doing so but clearly getting the idea across all the same.

“But we also have to brace ourselves for the potential, ‘Oh, if only Bethany was here to see this, and don’t forget whose fault it is she isn’t,’” she continued. “And yeah, I know, that’s the part she’s working on, but that shit doesn’t just go away, so…who the fuck even knows.”

_“And I’m mired in the marrow of my well-ain’t-that-funny bone…”_

“It’s alright, love,” Anders said, and he sounded vastly more convincing that time.

“Oh hey, you nerds,” Isabela popped over and grabbed both Anders’s and Elissa’s attention. “It’s looking like a slow night so I’m bumping your duet up, which is next, and then I’ll go and then Anders gets a solo turn again. If anyone else wants to put in more, do feel free…”

She turned away as quickly as she’d come, before Hawke could mention she at least still had more options lined up. She didn’t know if she wanted them anymore, though.

“Alright, you’ll be lead, I’ll be backing,” Elissa told Anders, and it was nice to see her so cheerful. Hawke hoped it would rub off on Anders.

“Anyone taking that ten sovereign bet?” Varric asked with a laugh.

“Nah,” Fenris replied without missing a beat. “Hawke, do you think he can spare it?”

“Yeah, right,” she laughed, and she left it at that, deciding not to mention how both of them had been pouring any possible extra resources they could come up with into the clinic and the Underground, how thin they’d both been stretching themselves in the name of the greater good.

Anders had actually gone over to Isabela ahead of Elissa, probably requesting another song or something along those lines. It was only another moment before Merrill stepped down and Elissa joined him, and Hawke laughed to herself when she realised that, while he wasn’t too far off, Anders would actually have lost that bet.

_“Pass me that lovely little gun, my dear, my darling one, the cleaners are coming one by one, you don’t even want to let them start…”_

Hawke could hear instantly why Elissa wanted to sing that with Anders, with the vocalisations she was already making under Anders’s words complementing his voice beautifully.

_“They are knocking now upon your door, they measure the room, they know the score, they’re mopping up the butcher’s floor of your broken little hearts (oh, children)...”_

“So, any ideas on exactly how responsible she is for Anders’s musical tastes?” Hawke smiled at Zevran, and they easily returned the expression. “Yet another thing I have to thank her for, I presume?”

_“Forgive us now for what we’ve done, it started out as a bit of fun…”_

“I would imagine,” Zevran laughed. “She never really talked about him before I met all of you, though, to be honest. Stories that aren’t hers to tell, respecting the boundaries of those she loves, you understand.”

“She’s a good friend, Zevran,” Hawke nodded. “As are you. It really _is_ going to be sad to see you two leave, have I said that already?”

_“O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children, rejoice, rejoice…”_

Elissa took those lines for herself, her classical training shining through even more.

“Yes,” Zevran spoke up again. “Yes, I believe you have all said it, and more than once, even. It is quite flattering, and I will miss being able to see all of you so often, as well.”

“You wouldn’t consider moving to Kirkwall, would you?” Varric asked, and Zevran cackled in response.

“That’s just rude, Varric,” Merrill chuckled.

“Really, though,” Aveline agreed. “Not that any of us are bitter…”

“Of course not,” Fenris smirked. “Never.”

_“Here comes Frank and poor old Jim, they’re gathering ‘round with all my friends, we’re older now, the light is dim and you are only just beginning (oh, children), we have the answer to all your fears, it’s short, it’s simple, it’s crystal clear, it’s roundabout and it’s somewhere here, lost among our winnings...”_

Zevran laughed along with everyone, but they still felt the need to add, “I don’t mean to insult your city—”

“There is literally nothing you can say we haven’t already said for ourselves,” Fenris replied. “Don’t you worry about a damn thing on that front.”

_“O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children, rejoice, rejoice…”_

“Do none of you ever think of leaving?” Zevran asked sincerely.

“It’s just not that simple, I guess,” Merrill answered first. “I mean, I think _everyone_ sort of hates it here in their own way, but moving is hard and at least here we have each other.”

“That’s sweet, Daisy,” Varric noted in a rare occasion where there wasn’t even the slightest hint of sarcasm to detect.

_“The cleaners have done their job on you, they’re hip to it, man, they’re in the groove, they’ve hosed you down, you’re good as new, they’re lining up to inspect you (oh, children), poor old Jim’s white as a ghost, he’s found the answer that we lost, we’re weeping now, weeping because there ain’t nothing we can do to protect you…”_

“She really loves Nick Cave, doesn’t she?” Hawke turned towards Zevran again, chilled by the song and wondering how Anders felt about it.

“Oh yes,” Zevran responded hastily. “He is definitely her favourite.”

_“O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children, rejoice, rejoice…”_

“Yeah, I guessed that,” Hawke smiled.

_“Hey little train we’re all jumping on, the train that goes to the kingdom (we’re happy, ma, we’re having fun and the train ain’t even left the station), hey little train, wait for me, I once was blind but now I see (have you left a seat for me, is that such a stretch of the imagination)…”_

She realised then that she’d known going in there was no way they were going to make it for the full night. She decided she was probably going to bring it up after Anders did his next solo song, and she strongly suspected he’d have no aversion to this.

_“Hey little train, wait for me, I was held in chains but now I’m free (I’m hanging in there, don’t you see, in this process of elimination), hey little train we’re all jumping on, the train that goes to the kingdom (we’re happy, ma, we’re having fun, it’s beyond my wildest expectations)...”_

Anders’s voice had taken on a sort of strained quality, and there was definitely a strong emotional component he was trying to suppress.

She was more than ready to go home, and she wasn’t sure if she remembered lighting the cigarette she drew to her lips just then or not.

Anders’s eyeliner was just the tiniest bit more smudged on the bottom than it had been before he and Elissa went up, but Hawke could see it plain as day when he sat back down next to her. She pushed her chair closer to his, even though she knew he’d be getting up again in only a few more minutes, but he pushed closer into her from his end, as well.

_“You hold me down in the best of ways, no quarter from these chains that I’ve slept on my heart for a feeling, why can’t I let my demons out, keep screaming into the pillow ‘cause your taste still gets me stupid high, oh glory, I’m a believer…”_

She wanted to punch that fucking Grand Cleric for throwing off their day like this. She hoped that perhaps later on she’d get that chance, or at least that Merrill might be able to glitterbomb her.

“I think it’s probably going to be an early night for me, love,” Anders whispered. “If you want to stay—”

“Oh no, thank the Maker,” she couldn’t hold back. “Sorry, love, I mean…I was worried it was just me, is all, so…yeah…”

_“Wild horses, run faster, run faster, run faster…”_

“Are you alright, love?” Anders asked, because of course he did.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” she said delicately. “It’s been a really weird day, though, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied so harshly something about it made them both laugh.

_“You call my truth in the worst way, through the dirty lands of a broken smile and I swear I’m not a pretender, sometimes it’s love who’s the baby’s cry, so I keep on damning the devil and you keep on saying it’s alright, oh glory, I’m a believer, oh lord, I’m holding on tight…”_

“It’ll just be nice to go home and get to properly relax,” she sighed. “No more pressure for the day and all, I guess…”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

_“Run faster, run faster, run faster…”_

“Do you just want to do your next one and then head out?” She asked to confirm her previous thought.

“Do you have any more in?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Then, yeah, that sounds good.”

_“So I keep on damning the devil and you keep on saying it’s alright, oh glory, I’m a believer, oh lord, I’m holding on tight…”_

“I think we’re probably going to get going soon, by the way,” Aveline spoke up, and Hawke couldn’t help her quiet laughter.

“Actually, we were just saying the same thing,” she responded.

“You guys suck,” Varric laughed.

“Love you, too,” Hawke teased.

_“Run faster, run faster, run faster…”_

It was Anders’s turn again, and he kissed Hawke on the forehead before he stood back up to do his final song of the evening.

She recognised it as soon as it started, even though it wasn’t something she’d really listened to since she was in high school, but it made sense to her somehow. Anders couldn’t place why he seemed to have fallen into something of an episode, and they both knew all too well that there didn’t have to be any outside reason at all, but she could still understand why his selection might have felt necessary to him.

_“What I’ve kept with me and what I’ve thrown away and where the hell I’ve ended up on this glary, random day, were the things I really cared about just left along the way from being too pent up and proud…”_

He maintained that strained sound from the end of his duet with Elissa, but it worked. She wouldn’t have imagined such a song could work so well for him, especially when he was audibly struggling with his own head, but it really did.

_“Woke up way too late today feeling hungover and old, and the sun was shining bright and I walked barefoot down the road, started thinking about my old man, it seems that all men want to get into a car and go anywhere…”_

If anyone around her kept up conversation, she couldn’t tell. She tuned out everything but Anders, but the sound of his voice and the gentle cracks, the raw emotion that it always seemed so silly for karaoke to be such an excellent channel for, but that it was all the same.

_“Here I stand, sad and free, I can’t cry and I can’t see what I’ve done, oh god, what have I done…”_

She finished her cigarette, and for a change she thought far enough ahead not to light another. She reached for the ashtray and crushed the filter, and then put the remainder of her pack and her lighter into her bag to keep away any further temptation before they left.

_“Don’t you know I’m numb, man, no I can’t feel a thing at all ‘cause it’s all smiles and business these days and I’m indifference to the loss, I think that there’s a soul somewhere that’s leading me around, I wonder if she knows which way is down…”_

“Fuck,” she did catch Elissa mutter from the other side of her, and they both must have had the same thought, of Anders’s mother and the loss he didn’t know he’d suffered until so long after, further factoring into the mourning of the life he could’ve had but would never know.

He still tried to tell her not to think of it in those terms, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over how much easier her upbringing had been, even at its worst, compared to what he’d lived through, as well as what he hadn’t.

_“I poured my heart out, I poured my heart out, it evaporated, see…”_

She thought of suggesting seeing her mother again the next day. She decided she’d bring it up on the way home. She knew it would probably make him happier than he would admit.

_“Blind man on a canyon’s edge of a panoramic scene, maybe I’m a kite that’s flying high and random dangling on a string, or slumped over in a vacant room, head on a stranger’s knee, I’m sure back home they think I’ve lost my mind…”_

She kicked back the rest of her cider, much too ready to get the fuck out of there, to be home and not have to deal with anyone else, even those she loved most aside from Anders. Especially if they really were going to see her mother two days in a row.

Regardless, it had certainly been too long of a day, and she had a lot on her mind by that point, as well, but first and foremost was going home and taking care of Anders as much as he would allow, and hopefully a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Zevran actually specifically sang "Uptown Funk" entirely for [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord). Bless.
> 
> (Merrill's was 100% simply because I was really feeling the "well-ain't-that-funny bone" line.)
> 
> Also, we have started trying to establish some better ideas of what more of these nerds sound like when they sing, in [this post](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com/post/157909845808/the-arkadian-becauseanders-becauseanders) that is still open to suggestions.
> 
> And for real-life personal reasons I have very recently come to the conclusion that I now almost definitely am going to be tackling a certain in-game storyline I was previously certain I absolutely would not do so...this should be interesting. Just bear with me, I guess.
> 
> <3


	74. Oh How It Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: minor nods to Circle abuse, Karl, and Malcolm
> 
> This is a pretty mild one for the most part, with the one very serious exception of _beware of foreshadowing._
> 
> ["Ladytron" from Velvet Goldmine](https://youtu.be/9th9IjExs70)   
>  ["Justice Is Might" by Sonic Youth](https://youtu.be/3hAibWRoYZw)   
>  ["La La Love You" by Pixies](https://youtu.be/cLJVZdKt2GQ)   
>  ["Follow the Cops Back Home" by Placebo](https://youtu.be/TWyFQSFLakg)

The entire month of Guardian seemed to pass by in flashes, moving all too quickly.

Hawke recalled calling her mother on a Sunday like she told herself she would. They didn’t even wait to talk to Lirene first like she’d initially wanted.

“Is everything alright?” Her mother asked when she brought up having dinner together after going over for lunch the previous day. She didn’t mind the question, she understood where it had come from, although she started to realise in that exact moment how much she actually wanted to get past such an inquiry making so much sense within the context of their relationship.

“Yes, Mother, everything’s fine,” she forced herself to laugh. “We’d just like to see you again, is all, but if you have other plans for anything, don’t worry—”

“No, no, dear, I’m free,” her mother interrupted, sounding almost casual, so unlike herself. Hawke remembered thinking, even in that moment, if perhaps the walls really were starting to come down, after all. “Dinner will be ready at 6:00, okay?”

She remembered the drive to Hightown, too, and all of the excited tension she felt along the way.

_“You got me, girl, on the runaround, runaround, got me all around town, you got me, girl, on the runaround and it’s getting me down, getting me down…”_

“I think this is going to be good,” she said more to herself than to Anders. “I think this is going to go well.”

_“Lady, if you want a fine lover, dare you look no further, ‘cause I’m gonna be your only, searching at the start of the season and my only reason is that I’ll get you…”_

“I think so, too, love,” he replied, and he might even have meant it. At the very least, he sounded convincing, vastly moreso than she did.

She didn’t understand what made her so apprehensive. Her mother liked Anders, that was quite clear, as did Carver. Maybe it was the lingering sorrow that would always be there for the tragedy it was he’d never known either her father or her sister. She didn’t think that emptiness would ever close.

_“I’ll find some way of connection, hiding my intention, then I’ll move close to you, I’ll use you and I’ll confuse you, and then I’ll lose you…”_

“It’s almost funny now how much I thought that was going to be me,” she mused at the song lyrics, and Anders hummed his curiosity at her meaning.

She laughed softly, unsure of how else to follow, and then she managed, “I mean, I guess I just never really knew I was ever capable of _more,_ that I…that I was capable of _this.”_

“I understand, love,” he answered easily, and she knew he didn’t, at least not the same way she did, but she accepted it, anyway.

She remembered how strangely nervous she and Anders both had been walking into the estate, how at the same time it was the most at ease she’d ever felt entering that house the entire time her mother had lived in it, even when she’d lived there, herself.

“How have you been, dear?” She asked Anders first when they all sat down, still prioritising the guest despite his presence having already become expected. No one knew how much longer it would last, but it remained in place, all the same. Carver wasn’t there, he might have been out with Norah.

“Fairly well,” Anders answered with a smile. He was genuinely relaxed, the most Hawke had seen in weeks. He seemed happy, at least by their standards, just as she hoped he’d be.

He looked to Hawke, unsure if he should let her proceed, if it would be more appropriate for her to take the reigns in her family home. That had never been something she was able to do, however, and that much had yet to change. It appeared he understood to the best of his ability.

“Go on, love,” she surprised herself by saying aloud, and her face actually matched his, and she adored everything about it.

“Your daughter and I have come to a decision,” he said, clearly struggling to compose his words, anxious no matter how content he was to be there, to be delivering the news that he was.

He looked like he was waiting for some sort of response, for her to simply voice her curiosity. She looked at him, and the intrigue was evident in her eyes, but she waited for him to finish his thought, holding back her own tongue in her typical overly polite regard.

“We don’t have anything planned yet,” he continued, excitement building into nerves. Hawke ran her hand down his arm and over his, which rested over the dining room table, rubbing her fingertips over his knuckles. “But we intend to get married.”

“Oh!” Her mother had exclaimed, her own excitement rising to the surface and shattering her typical airs entirely. “Oh, that’s lovely, that’s…”

“Yes, it is,” Hawke replied, beyond ecstatic to see her mother suddenly become…a person. Not just an ominous shadow of guilt trips and lectures and misplaced blame and unreasonable expectations, but a genuine human being. “Like he said, we’ve no plans thus far, but we know that this is what we want, and we’ve agreed that that’s what’s most important right now.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” her mother went on, and Hawke truly believed her. “Will you be changing your name? What even _is_ your surname, Anders?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at how that would be her mother’s first question, neither could she hold back her need to say, “Oh no, here it is.”

“We’ve talked a little about names, but _everything_ is up in the air for the time being,” was what he started with. “Mine, though, is…well, it’s actually Cousland.”

That, to no one’s surprise, sharply piqued her mother’s interest.

Hawke remembered that moment well, that precise second when the barriers fell.

“Love,” he turned to her, his voice serious, somewhere between firm and fragile, a line he somehow walked so well. “I think it’s time.”

She agreed so easily, so unnaturally natural that she could hardly believe her own feelings, but there they were and she did not fight them.

She remembered Anders explaining nearly everything. He spoke of growing up in Kinloch Hold, of running away and fatefully stumbling into Elissa in Amaranthine, of how much she had done to keep him safe. He spared most of the finer details, still; he didn’t elaborate on what life in the Circle was like or why he was ever sent there to begin with, and he made no mention of Karl other than a vague note about choosing Kirkwall because he “had a friend who lived here.” It was more than enough, though, and Hawke remembered how emotional that moment was, the way her mother stood up from her chair and walked to Anders, how he’d stood to greet her and the two of them embraced so warmly, so sincerely.

“I never imagined you’d follow in my footsteps,” she told Hawke with a smile. “Although I suppose I honestly should have known better. I’m glad you’ve found someone who understands you. It’s all I could truly ever ask for.”

“Mother…” She didn’t know what to say, so in awe of how human her mother had become in that moment, and how unusually human she herself felt as it unfolded. It was a turning point, and she clearly recalled being hyper-aware of it at the time. She couldn’t say after what they’d had for dinner, or much of anything beyond that, but she remembered the exact second their dynamic turned—the exact second she realised, for the first time in her adult life, that she genuinely loved her mother.

The next day Anders had picked her up from work and they had a strikingly similar conversation with Lirene, save for the lengthy explanations and references to the apparent family legacy. Hawke was glad they’d waited to see her face, though. That was more than worth it.

She remembered about a week after that, when Elissa and Zevran really did leave. It felt almost surreal to say goodbye after so long, so strange to see them off when they had so truly become a part of their family.

Anders promised Elissa he’d call more often, and Hawke had promised Elissa she’d hold him to it. Both she and Zevran also promised they’d be back, though, maybe once things were settled between them and their living situation. It was bittersweet and she knew it would take some time to get used to, that surely it would seem so empty without them, at least for a little while.

Hawke remembered how she and Anders listened almost exclusively to Nick Cave and Depeche Mode for several days after that.

She finally got that septum piercing she’d been talking about, too. One day she’d gotten coffee with Varric after work and then they’d wandered around Lowtown for a little bit after, and the urge struck her when they walked past a shop. She regretted it as soon as she did, not because she didn’t like it but because she and Anders were working so hard not to spend unnecessarily, still putting all they could into the cause. He told her not to worry about it, that they’d both been doing enough to warrant following a whim to splurge ever so slightly. It did suit her, and it did complement her scar, a fact her mother was quick to point out the first time she saw it a few days after Hawke got it done.

They didn’t do much to celebrate Fenris’s birthday as he insisted that he’d prefer to keep it low-key, but everyone still went out to the Hanged Man together, as if they could possibly have done anything else.

Hawke remembered going out with Aveline that week, as well. She was surprised that she liked her bridesmaid dress. It was so colourful, nothing like anything she’d ever have picked on her own, but it worked somehow.

“You might actually have enough hair now to do something with _that,_ too,” Aveline pointed out with a smile. “We’ll figure it out later.”

“Have you found a venue yet?” Hawke asked as they made their way out of Apparel by Jean Luc, new dress in tow. “Please don’t say Chantry…”

“Well, there’s nothing official but we actually _did_ have a thought…just promise me you won’t laugh,” Aveline stopped in her tracks and turned around. She clearly wanted to see Hawke’s reaction, so Hawke stopped to listen with equal levels of anticipation. “What about the Hanged Man?”

Hawke laughed and laughed, ready to point out that she had neglected to make that promise. “Would Donnic’s family be okay with that? I’ve gotten the impression they’re a bit more on the, umm, _old-school_ side of things.”

“I don’t know how they’d feel, honestly,” Aveline shrugged. It didn’t look like she cared. “But Donnic’s the one who suggested it, so I suppose he can deal with whatever. And you know, it’s not a Chantry, it has its own sort of meaning to us, and Varric won’t charge us for it because he knows I know where he sleeps.”

“I think it sounds perfect, Aveline,” Hawke chuckled. It was oddly funny still, true, but she couldn’t have thought of anything better if she tried. “I think Anders and I might have to copy that one, actually.”

“That's fair,” Aveline was the one to laugh that time. “We _are_ full of brilliant ideas, we can’t possibly expect to hoard them all for ourselves.”

She remembered getting into Aveline’s car to head back to Darktown, thinking of how she really didn’t belong in Hightown anymore—how she never truly had.

_“This song is called, this song, okay this song is called justice is justice is might, okay it’s about it’s about sonic life, it’s about it’s about sonic life, it’s about sonic life, that’s right…”_

“Donnic’s?” Hawke began when Aveline turned over the ignition and music began to play, and Aveline confirmed with a nod.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to give his tastes more of a chance, you know?” She shrugged. “So we’ve been doing car mixes, like you and Anders do. It seems to be working out for us alright.”

_“It’s like staying at home and risking your life, this song, okay this song, this song is called justice, this song is called justice is might…”_

She smiled to herself thinking of Anders, of his Justice moniker and how much good he did. Or how much good they did; she was in this now just as much as he was and she was only going to dig herself in deeper with time, she knew that ship had long since sailed off into the sunset.

“Things are changing again, aren’t they?” Hawke asked suddenly, surprising herself, but the sense was there and it was growing stronger.

_“But that’s alright as long as it’s strong, it’s just that it might, justice is might, justice is might, justice is might, justice is might…”_

“I think so,” Aveline replied nonchalantly. “Seems an easier transition this time around, though.”

“True,” Hawke smiled. “It’s just…strange, I suppose, for things to, I don’t know, _happen.”_

“I think I know what you mean,” Aveline laughed. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, Hawke?”

“Yeah…yeah, we have.”

There was a pause and then a huff of laughter escaping through Aveline’s nose before she said, “At least it’s not so _tumultuous_ right now, huh?”

“Maker’s balls, Aveline,” Hawke sighed with a wide and obviously amused grin. “Did you really—”

“I had to, I’m sorry,” she interrupted, still laughing. “It popped into my head and…well…”

“Yeah, yeah…”

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I love you, love you, I love you, I do, I love you…”_

“Really, though, Hawke,” Aveline started again, “I’m glad it doesn’t always have to be, you know? Not trying to sound like I’m mothering you again, but—”

“But you’re not going let that stop you.”

_“All I’m saying, pretty baby, la la love you don’t mean maybe…”_

“No, I’m not,” Aveline smirked at Hawke’s interruption. “But you know, it’s nice, that’s all, whenever we don’t have to completely fall the fuck apart to start building. And _you,_ Hawke…I never thought I’d see you—”

_“Mother,”_ Hawke whined playfully. “I know, though, I mean…I get it, but…”

“You know, I know I’ve said this a billion times, but I’m not sure how much I’d ever truly believed it before,” Aveline continued. She took a deep breath, so tense for a split second and then leading into an earnest grin. “But I think we’re going to turn out alright. And this time, I really do mean that.”

_“La la love you don’t mean maybe…”_

“And this time, I think I’m even almost starting to believe you,” Hawke laughed. “Now, how fucking weird is that?”

“Quite,” Aveline smiled.

Hawke remembered when Aveline and Donnic brought their idea up to Varric that same night during Saturday karaoke. He was beside himself, cackling so obnoxiously Aveline looked like she might punch him.

“Oh, Red, that is _beautiful,”_ he said once he could catch his breath. “Perfect, seriously. Let’s do it.”

Aveline and Donnic both drank way more than usual that evening, in celebration every bit as much as out of stress over how work had been going for them as of late. Apparently there’d been a recent string of muggings in Hightown. They made a point to warn Carver to be careful. Hawke and Anders mentioned it to her mother the next day, as well, when they went over for yet another dinner.

“Says the one who lives in _Darktown,_ of all places, dear,” she replied dismissively.

“Oh, don’t be so fucking _proud,_ Mother,” Hawke snapped back with a smile. Sure, it was true, she was far more likely to run into trouble in her adopted neighbourhood, but she still had to mention it. Because she cared. Because she really and truly cared like she never thought she could.

_“The call to arms was never true, time to imbibe, here’s to you, I’ll tell you stories bruised and blue of drum machines and landslides, just one more round before we’re through, more psychedelic yuppie flu, it’s such a silly thing to do…”_

“Things are going well, aren’t they, love?” Hawke asked on the ride home that night. “I mean, you know, for _us…”_

“I think so,” he laughed. “I think I like it.”

“I’m so nervous and excited for…you know,” she continued. She didn’t need to say it out loud, but she eagerly let it out, anyway.

_“And now we’re stuck on rewind, let’s follow the cops back home, follow the cops back home, let’s follow the cops back home and rob their houses…”_

“I know, love,” he smiled. “So am I. Maker, though, there’s still so much work to do…”

_“The call to arms was never true, let’s take a ride and push it through suspended animation glue, blame it on apartheid, let’s spend the night in Jimmy Choos, I’ll give you coats and cheap shampoos, I’ll give you nothing else to do and now we’re stuck on rewind…”_

“How can I help?” She was always asking for more and he loved it every bit as much as he hated it. She still hadn’t involved her identity, but she didn’t care about that. She’d tell the world, the Chantry, Andraste herself. Anders knew it, too, which was exactly why he wanted to keep some distance between her and the Underground for as long as he still could.

“You’re doing more than enough, love,” he insisted. “I’ll just need to get in touch with Selby, work out what all she wants me to do before the date. Probably mostly posting fliers at this point, although I do need to finish up the next issue of _Freedom’s Call,_ but that’s almost ready.”

_“Let’s follow the cops back home and rob their houses…”_

“You can’t keep me out forever, love,” she said. “I’m a part of this, Anders, and I want to help.”

_“The call to arms was never true, I’m medicated, how are you, let’s take a dive, swim right through sophisticated points of view…”_

“I can make stuff, too,” she went on. “Get a cool nickname, you know. I have always wanted to be a dragon, can we work with that?”

Her hand instinctively moved to that pendant Lirene had gotten her for Satinalia and she couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not sure, love,” he chuckled. “Maybe. We can figure it out.”

“Anders,” she sighed. She took his hand so gently, so carefully. “Love, your manifestos are incredible, and it just makes me feel so…I don’t know, I almost want to say jealous. You do so much, love, it’s extraordinary, and I…I want to do _more.”_

“I get it, love,” he assured. “I really do. We’ll talk to Selby.”

They talked to Selby that week, and she was not what Hawke had expected. She was soft and sweet and looked like she was probably around her mother’s age, not the flamethrowing young punk radical she’d pictured behind the name. It made sense, then, why Selby worked exclusively behind the scenes in organisation, and she disclosed that her involvement began not after her sister was forced into a Circle, but after they’d made damn sure she’d never be able to leave. They did to her precisely what they’d planned to do to Karl, and Anders visibly grimaced at the mention.

It seemed it was difficult for Selby to talk about, as well, though, and the subject quickly changed.

Hawke explained everything about who she was and how she’d always feared the Circle, and what had happened to her father and her sister, who they’d been both as living people and as Chantry casualties.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Selby asked. “How are you thinking you’d like to get involved?”

“I’m not sure, honestly,” Hawke laughed. “I mean, we already have Justice over here with his whole ‘oppression stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker,’ and I _obviously_ can’t compete with that, but…”

“But?”

“But I _need_ to do more. I _need_ to help. Clearly you understand.”

They decided hers would be a simple task. She would drop notes on buses, around the city streets, inside books in shops, anywhere and everywhere she could. They realised most would go unnoticed, that many would be discarded without a glance, but it was easy and cost-effective and could still so easily help. They would read only the time and place of the next protest with no other explicit detail, the only other words on the pages to be, “For Malcolm’s Honour.” It was cryptic and potentially curiosity-baiting, and it made the most sense to her. She still wanted to work in dragons, she decided she’d work on doodling around the message. No one fought her on that.

“Apostasy in action,” she chuckled after they’d figured it all out, and Selby took to it. Hawke remembered her father using the word “apostate” regularly to describe his personal defection from the Chantry, so much she’d always assumed it was common. It caught everyone’s attention right then in any case, and the next day Anders was adding those words in large, ornate letters to every new flier he designed.

“You said you wanted to help, love,” Anders smiled at her, as proud of her as even she was of herself.

“I did, didn’t I?”

It wasn’t a Molotov cocktail through a Chantry window, but it was certainly a start.

She sat down beside Anders and picked up a pen of her own. He passed her some paper to try her own hand, and she took to it easily enough. It was nothing elaborate, but there was a message and they both needed it to be heard.

Time flew so fast that month although much of importance had happened, overwhelming as it passed by while she still tried to take in as much of it as she could. It was exciting, though, that same feeling as before the Underground’s last event taking her over, and she loved every second of it.


	75. Perennial Expectancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some passing references to Chantry bullshit and related matters, and obvious foreshadowing continues to be obvious
> 
> Nothing too major this time otherwise, though, honestly.
> 
> ["Take Me to Church" by Hozier](https://youtu.be/MYSVMgRr6pw)   
>  ["Silent Thunder" by Christian Death](https://youtu.be/Tr7gAmQlT3g)   
>  ["Rose" by A Perfect Circle](https://youtu.be/vZajIU1K3dQ)   
>  ["Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/9jg4ekLG9Zo)   
>  ["Into Dust" by Mazzy Star](https://youtu.be/SiO_7LhPZFM)

The second week of Drakonis was there before they knew it, and everything was so busy.

It was Wednesday night and their nights at the Hanged Man had become the only real breaks they got anymore. Anders was constantly being called off to meetings with other members of the Underground when he wasn’t in the clinic, and Hawke had taken to helping him assemble images and make copies for his zine, on top of doing her own part by constantly leaving cryptic slips of paper on buses, on community bulletin boards, on tables and chairs at coffee shops—wherever she went, whenever she went.

There was something strangely special about this Wednesday, though. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that in just a few days they’d be back at the Gallows, that this protest was looking to be even more intense than the last, that emotions were naturally high as a result. Emotions were, in fact, abundant in excess, and that gave the Hanged Man an interesting air.

Anders was first to be called to the stand, and it was immediately evident that he, at least, was feeling it every bit as hard as she was.

_“My lover’s got humour, she’s the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody’s disapproval, I should’ve worshipped her sooner…”_

She couldn’t help but stare as he began to sing, his voice haunting with the passion it held from the very start, and he stared back with fire in his eyes.

_“If the heavens ever did speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece, every Sunday’s getting more bleak, a fresh poison each week…”_

It made sense, of course, given the events before them, especially in the context of the fact that such anticipation was the precise reason for the fact that the both of them had taken to wearing rings on their left hands. They were cheap and unembellished, but they served as all the symbol they needed.

_“‘We were born sick,’ you heard them say it, my church offers no absolutes, she tells me, ‘worship in the bedroom,’ the only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you, I was born sick but I love it, command me to be well, amen…”_

Something about the line “we were born sick” against preparing for what was to come, against the ups and downs they’d had, and again delivered in such a chilling voice, and she hoped no one noticed that she genuinely had to take a moment to hold back tears.

_“Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death, good god, let me give you my life…”_

She wasn’t sure how to feel about how perfect the song was for them.

It made her think, though, it made her think of the one song she couldn’t hear without thinking of Anders from the first time she’d ever had a real conversation with him, from the moment she’d learned anything about who he really was. She picked up a slip and quickly filled it out to take to Isabela, unsure how it had taken her so long to think of singing it for him one of these nights.

_“If I’m a pagan of the good times, my lover’s the sunlight to keep the goddess on my side, she demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny, something meaty for the main course…”_

She lit a cigarette when she sat back down but made sure to turn herself so that she could still watch him intently, and she’d noticed that his eyes had remained on her at every move. Varric laughed and she knew it was at her, at them, but she couldn’t have cared less, that night even less than most.

_“That’s a fine looking high horse, what you got in the stable, we’ve a lot of starving faithful, that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work…”_

That line reminded her of the Chantry, of everything they were fighting against, and that time she had to bite back a callous laugh at the thought.

_“Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death, good god, let me give you my life…”_

She couldn’t wait for Saturday, couldn’t wait for whatever might happen next, anything it could mean. She looked forward to exposing them, looked forward to spreading the truth. After all, they were born sick and even though she would never try to pretend she could ever truly imagine all that Anders had been through, even though she would never try to place his experience against hers as though they were in any way comparable, they had both suffered for it immensely.

_“No masters or kings when the ritual begins, there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene, only then I am human, only then I am clean…”_

Everyone was so high-strung and nerves were everywhere, but it made his voice even more beautiful than it usually was, so raw and so charged. She thought of how much Bethany would have absolutely adored this performance, how very relevant it would have been to her personal musical interests.

_“Amen, amen, amen…”_

She hadn’t needed any further hardening of her resolve, but she’d certainly have found it in that. There were so many reasons to fight.

“Do you want me to bring more glitter?” Merrill asked, pulling Hawke out from her own head.

“Yes, please,” Hawke smiled enthusiastically. “That was the highlight of the day last time. Maybe that fucking cleric or her attack dog will even go out this time…”

“Oh no, you won’t see Stannard out there, and I’d put money on that,” Carver replied. “If I am wrong, though, hit her once for me.”

“Are you coming with _us_ this time, Carver?” Merrill asked him, but he shook his head.

“Too risky, having worked there and all,” he explained. “You lot have far less of a chance of having your identities blown than I do, but if I do get caught and you’re seen with me and that’s enough to give you away, then _you’re_ the ones who’ll be _really_ fucked, so...”

“That's very thoughtful,” Merrill nodded.

“You’re not going to see me there this time, either, mind you,” Donnic added. “The City Guard presence should be far smaller this time since we’ve got our hands full in Hightown already right now, but there _will_ be a presence and you’ll have no friends among them, I’m afraid.”

“Great,” Anders groaned when he sat back down.

“Play nice,” Varric teased as he put out his cigarette and turned to take Anders’s place.

“Actually, please,” Aveline sighed. “This case is going to be the death of me, I swear. Speaking of which, where’s Norah?”

“Not my fault this time,” Carver laughed and pointed to the table she was serving at that moment.

“Things that bad?” Hawke asked Aveline while she lit a cigarette.

_“My bed is the garden where voices all meet, hands skim through the water beneath my pillow, stones like rain wash away the hours, the hands on my clock, sex, wilted flowers…”_

“Started out as robberies, which was bad enough, but…” Donnic shook his head, and his eyes drifted towards Norah, as well.

“Theory is the bastard’s getting scared about too many victims reporting, being able to identify him, you know,” Aveline continued. “So now all of a sudden reports of being mugged are down, but bodies are turning up. Without wallets. It’s a whole fucking mess.”

“Maker, I hope you get a lead or something soon,” Fenris offered.

“Thanks,” Aveline and Donnic said together.

_“Silent thunder pries me to sleep, falling from the edge so steep…”_

“Just…keep an eye out, everyone, alright,” Aveline added. “Kirkwall’s a shithole and all, and our crime statistics are certainly more than noteworthy even on a good day, but we haven’t seen anything quite like _this_ for at least as long as I’ve been here, so…you know…”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke smirked, but it clearly wasn’t funny.

“You know, Varric can _almost_ pull this one off,” Merrill mused casually, effectively changing the subject, which seemed like it was something both Aveline and Donnic needed.

“Yes, this is _acceptable,”_ Hawke laughed. “Although now that we’ve said that, later on he’s subject us to his John Lydon impression again or even just stick with this but do something off of, like, _Scriptures.”_

“Andraste, please, no,” Anders teased.

“Does everyone else know what the fuck language they’re speaking?” Fenris chuckled. “Is it really just me?”

“Isn’t that the guy from the Sex Pistols?” Donnic asked.

“Yes, but…” Hawke smiled out smoke. “But that’s not— _okay,_ I think the best way to put it is, have you ever wanted the Sex Pistols to be, you know, _real?_ Then maybe try Public Image Ltd., that might be more like what you’re looking for. And the other thing was just another Christian Death album Varric should never be allowed to touch because it is full of songs he would absolutely butcher. Any further questions?”

_“And if my eyes shy from the morning, my lips will taste of unripened fruit, words without a language call from the past, the future was the day before the last…”_

“No, I think that about covers it,” Fenris smirked.

“Andraste’s tits, those desperate eyes you’ve been making are a bit too obvious, you know,” Norah laughed. “What’ll it be and how bad do you need it?”

“Oh so very,” Aveline exhaled, and the round of orders was placed easily enough.

“I’ll come back in a bit,” Norah winked at Carver.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Fenris teased.

_“Silent thunder pries me to sleep, falling the edge so steep…”_

“So, umm, are you two coming over for dinner again on Sunday?” Carver asked Hawke and Anders. “You know, suggesting…never mind, you know…”

He still couldn’t even bring himself to joke about the protest and its worst case scenarios. He wanted to, he wanted to keep that in line with all the other bad jokes and playful mockeries they made with and at each other to form the bedrock of their renewed relationship. He had yet to follow successfully through, though.

“Yeah, why?” Hawke broke the moment of tension before it could escalate.

“Because I’ve invited Norah,” he replied nervously. “And I just figured it might be, I don’t know, easier somehow if you were there, too.”

“We will be,” Anders confirmed. No jokes, no deflections, no worries or maybes.

“Good,” Carver nodded. “Good.”

His name was called next and his selection’s beginnings prompted an immediate smile from Fenris, followed with, “Oh nice, this is one of my favourites…”

_“Don’t disturb the beast, the temperamental goat, the snail while he’s feeding on the rose, stay frozen, compromise what I will, I am…”_

“It’s still really cool that you two have become such good friends,” Hawke noted. She was past the point of it being weird. It simply was, and what it was, was a good thing she could no longer find a way to try to argue with.

“Thanks,” Aveline told Norah a bit too eagerly upon receiving her drink, echoed by Donnic. Still, she found herself a smile and playfully raised her glass with the words, “To the continuation of this super fucked up year.”

_“Bend around the wind, silently thrown about again, I’m treading so soft and lightly compromising my will, I am…”_

“The year, as it were, is almost over,” Hawke nodded with a tip of her own glass. “Which is hard enough to believe in itself, but at this point I suppose this is just our lives now.”

It wasn’t weird anymore, per se, but it was different and time had flown by so fast since Bethany, yet at the same time it felt like their lives had been in this routine forever.

_“I am, I will, so no longer will I lay down, play dead, play your doe in the headlights locked down and terrified, your deer in the headlights shot down and horrified…”_

“But it’s been a good year, or as good as it possibly could have been,” Varric added, and everyone agreed. “And yes, _definitely_ bring more glitter, Daisy.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Isabela chuckled as she walked over to the bar, stopping first to kiss Merrill along the way.

_“When push comes to pull come to shove comes to step around this self-destructing dance that never would’ve ended ‘til I rose, I roared aloud here, I will, I am…”_

“Time really does fly when you’re having…something,” Hawke laughed. “I don’t know where I’d be without you fuckers, though, so…you know…”

“Maker’s balls, Hawke, you’re not even really drinking yet,” Varric teased. “Calm down the feels, alright?”

“We’ve been working very hard on _not_ doing that if you don’t mind,” Anders shot back with a smirk. “Don’t devalue our progress, dammit.”

“Ooh, you just got doctor’d!” Fenris snickered at Varric. “Burn.”

_“I am, I will, so no longer will I lay down, play dead, play this kneel-down gun-shy martyr, pitiful, I rose, I roared, I will, I am…”_

“It shows, don’t worry,” Merrill smiled, and Hawke smiled back while she lit a cigarette just before her name was called.

She couldn’t even bring herself to be bothered, though. She just took it up with her.

She grinned at Anders when the opening notes began to play. He already knew it was her song for him, but it still felt all that much more special to sing it then and there.

_“Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth, you pull on your finger then another finger then your cigarette, the wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers then you forget, oh you’re a rock ‘n’ roll suicide…”_

Anders smiled widely back at her, exactly the look she was hoping for. He felt it, too, for sure.

She hit her cigarette, even though she knew it was going to give her voice a husky quality she didn’t think would work to do so in the midst of a song, but she figured the point of this particular selection was made, in any case.

_“You’re too old to lose it, too young to choose it, and the clock waits so patiently on your song, you walk past the café but you don’t eat when you’ve lived too long, oh no no no, you’re a rock ‘n’ roll suicide…”_

Another hit and another glance at Anders, the verse forcing a quick reflection on the sharpness of his cheekbones that remained in place of what had once been a much harsher gaunt, how she hadn’t even quite realised how bad it really was until it started to lessen. He looked so beautiful.

_“Chevy brakes are snarling as you stumble across the road but the day breaks instead so you hurry home, don’t let the sun blast your shadow, don’t let the milk float ride your mind, you’re so natural, religiously unkind…”_

Unkind to himself, maybe. He was far too unkind to himself. To everyone else, though, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Except, perhaps, for a certain state-sponsored religious institution. He didn’t need to be kind to them, and she knew well that he wouldn’t be.

He was so beautiful.

_“Oh no, love, you’re not alone, you’re watching yourself but you’re too unfair, you got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care, oh no, love, you’re not alone no matter what or who you’ve been, no matter when or where you’ve seen, all the knives seem to lacerate your brain, I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain…”_

She hadn’t anticipated her eyes starting to water. Something about this was so perfect, so raw.

She took a quick hit and looked again to Anders, who appeared to be in the same predicament. It was difficult to tell through the lighting and the smoke and the distance, but she gathered both of them were inadvertently fucking up their eyeliner.

_“You’re not alone, just turn on with me and you’re not alone, let’s turn on with me and you’re not alone, let’s turn on and be not alone, gimme your hands ‘cause you’re wonderful, gimme your hands ‘cause you’re wonderful, oh gimme your hands…”_

The look he gave her when she sat back down was everything. His eyes absolutely matched hers, the glaze of emotion subtle but present. It was okay, though; all emotions were high and every last one of them was feeling it. It was okay. It was almost good, even.

Merrill was called next, and Hawke kept smiling strangely to herself as she finished her cigarette.

_“Still falling, breathless and on again, inside today, beside me today, around, broken in two, ‘til your eyes shed into dust…”_

Emotions were high and everyone was feeling it, the intensity of it almost overwhelming, but it was okay. Really and truly, it was okay.

***

They were lying in bed after a full night at the tavern, and Anders was fiddling around with his phone.

“Everything alright, love?” Hawke asked, sleepily rolling over to nestle against him, an arm around his waist and her nose rubbing into his shoulder.

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Just checking the news, seeing if anything about the protest or the Underground has popped up.”

“And?”

“Actually,” he laughed softly, and she swore she could hear him smile even while she closed her eyes and pressed herself in closer. “We have. Or more accurately, _you_ have.”

“Wait, what?” Her eyes opened abruptly and she shifted completely to her side to push herself up with her elbow. “People are finding my notes?”

“Yes, love.” He looked so proud, and it made her blush. “Sounds like they’re really capturing people’s attention, and the news _is_ speculating about the connection to the protest, but they’re definitely generating interest through sheer curiosity like we wanted them to.”

“Fuck,” she sighed. She was part of this, that was no longer open to doubt or debate. She was a part of this, and she felt the pride over it swell. “Love, this is amazing…”

The thought was so exciting, so firmly validating.

“I know, love,” he smiled. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

He moved himself around and set down his phone, and then he turned over and looked her in the eyes.

“Justice approves?” She asked with a quiet laugh while he brushed back a few strands of her hair and kept his hand in place.

“Justice approves,” he confirmed easily, closing his eyes and smiling ever more broadly. “Fuck, though, we shouldn’t have stayed so late…”

“I feel you,” she agreed.

Anders got up to turn off the light at her unintended prompting, and they positioned themselves to keep as close as possible when he laid back down.

“Fenris is coming over tomorrow, by the way,” he noted. He was starting to sound as tired as she was starting to feel. She hoped that meant sleep would greet them sooner than later. “We’ve been slacking on that guitar you got me…”

“You’re fine, love,” she replied with a yawn. “You’ll be good. Music suits you. It’s so pretty.”

She was sure he had to know what she meant, no matter how badly her need for sleep was affecting her ability to form the words she wanted. Maker only knew how many times she’d told him already, of course, of how much she loved his voice and the kinds of songs that he would sing, and how well they always worked together.

She just loved him so fucking much.

A point came where neither could will themselves the energy to speak but neither could they sleep, and she knew she’d be feeling it hard during work the next day.

As long as she got enough sleep by Saturday, though, she could figure out the rest from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HEY LOOK AT THAT, "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" a.k.a. the Song That Led This Whole Fucking Fic to Exist to Begin With™ has _finally_ made its proper appearance.
> 
> With that being said, it looks as though we are now officially at the beginning of the end. I'm not sure how many chapters we're looking at just yet, but [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/user/fereldandoglord) (beta reader and spiritual advisor) and I recently talked it through and we pretty much completely hashed out an outline for the entire rest of the story. So, umm, _wow,_ that's a thing?????
> 
> Sorry chapters are coming at a slower rate lately, though. I've put every other chapter fic I had before on hiatus for this one but then I still had to go and start [writing for Mass Effect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10478094/chapters/23118300), so...umm, oops...
> 
> Come trash with me on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com) if you want.


	76. The Revolution Will Be Televised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to Chantry abuse, obvious foreshadowing is still obvious
> 
> ["Rise" by Flobots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvVO6Y-3CM8)   
>  ["Public Image" by Public Image Ltd.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cifo77azntk)   
>  ["1983" by Christian Death](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn02412z_s8)   
>  ["War Dance" by Killing Joke](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JUFdQ2p6Gg)   
>  ["Praying" by Kesha](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-Dur3uXXCQ)   
>  ["Goin' Out West" by Tom Waits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27LLPANAgzw)

If the crowds filling in the Courtyards for their cause had been impressive during the previous demonstration, this was beyond words.

They’d painted their faces and wrapped them over in long scarves. Bandanas didn’t feel sufficient anymore. Not after last time, and not with the absolute certainty that they’d get no help from the inside.

Hawke was every bit as excited as before, though, while Anders was just as nervous. Fenris drove everyone again. Merrill had an oversized bag full of glitter bombs. Isabela wore all of her heaviest rings. Varric had an individual audio recorder in every pocket.

People were everywhere. Hawke looked around and spotted a few here and there who were deliberately lurking in the background and taking photos or videos with their phones.

There were so many signs this time; perhaps it had something to do with the fact that this protest was more widely known about ahead of time than the last, drawing larger crowds and greater passion from sheer numbers. Words like “resist” scattered across the grounds, giant banners of “antifa” and “fuck the Chantry” making Hawke’s heart swell.

There were larger signs, too, with blocks of words across them, long quotes that were difficult to read about oppression and injustice that Hawke recognised as Anders’s writing, as Justice’s words.

She was so fucking proud.

That same brother from the last time, that Sebastian, was slowly beginning to make the rounds again.

“Looks like target practice just arrived, Daisy,” Varric chuckled as Sebastian came into view.

“Persistent little fucker, isn’t he?” Isabela laughed. “You’d think after the last round…”

“I hope somebody fucking punches him right in his smug little face this time,” Anders added. “Glitter was great and all, but—”

“I agree,” Merrill interrupted. “Broody, _you_ should go after him.”

They had also all agreed to use Varric’s nicknames to refer to each other as an additional precaution. No one much liked the idea, aside from Varric himself, but it made sense given how anxious they all were to some extent and how careful they wanted to be, and they already had pre-existing code names and therefore had no actual reason to have to think of anything new for it.

It did sound very strange to hear Merrill refer to Fenris that way, but it all seemed a small concession to make.

“If he gets close enough, just try and stop me,” Fenris said. His voice didn’t have the slightest hint of animosity to it, in fact his tone was light and casual as could be, but it fit the scene well and there was no doubt about his sincerity.

Gallows security and City Guard patrols were clearly keeping close watch on Sebastian, but everyone on that end appeared reluctant to move. They might have known about the guerrilla media presence, but Hawke—or Champion, as she would be known for the occasion, thanks to some sarcastic comment or another from Varric that got out of hand (something to do with blowjobs, if she remembered correctly)—wasn’t entirely sure. At the same time, however, the protesters were collectively tentative about moving much, themselves, and their stasis was absolutely due to that reason. While Hawke knew she was far from alone in her belief that violence from their end was not only justified but long overdue, it also still stood that any violence at these events was traditionally initiated by the Chantry or Guard presence, and that is what the Underground and its peers wanted the record to show here, as well.

Tension permeated the whole of the Courtyards, both broken and exacerbated by the chants of the crowds.

“Justice,” they shouted, repeated over and over again.

_“Rise together, we rise together, we rise together, we rise…”_

Another sect of the group had started repeating that line, and Hawke decided quickly enough that she’d be requesting Isabela to play that song at the Hanged Man later.

Or maybe she’d make Carver sing it, just because that would be hilarious.

But even moreso, she felt it would be strangely appropriate, given his former job and his drastic turnaround as a person, it actually seemed more like it was right than that it was funny once she took more than a second to think about it.

In this moment in time, however, in this stand-off amongst the Courtyards so intense it felt as though it truly was a conflict between them and the Maker himself, no one was moving. No one was doing anything.

Another part of the crowds began adding further shouting into the din, repeatedly calling out, “The people! United! Will never be defeated!”

The crowd shifted around a bit to make room for another large incoming group, and that’s when Hawke spotted the “apostasy in action” sign.

“Love,” she looked to Anders, pointing in its direction. “Love, _look…”_

“Andraste’s knickers,” he replied, looking every bit as in awe of it as she. “I’m proud of you, love.”

She believed it, too. She was yet so thankful to be a part of it, and he continued to show her that despite all of his reservations, he was just as amazed to have a partner that cared about this as much as he, a partner who cared so deeply that she would so willingly stand by his side.

“Oh shit,” Anders followed in a vastly different tone when they spotted the Chantry doors open and a very tall and very angry blonde woman came storming out.

“What is it, Blondie?” Varric asked, sounding almost as wary.

 _“That_ is fucking Meredith Stannard,” he explained as quietly as possible.

“Oh shit,” Hawke, Varric, Isabela, Merrill, and Fenris all echoed.

Stannard appeared to be arguing with Sebastian, her sneer all too clear even from the distance, wildly wagging her finger at the crowds.

“That’s enough,” Stannard shouted, against what looked to be even the brother’s protests.

“Fuck,” Fenris huffed in anticipation.

“She’s going to make this a little _too_ easy, isn’t she?” Isabela asked sarcastically.

“Seems that way, yes,” Anders said flatly.

Stannard defiantly walked away from Sebastian and over to the guards present, and her orders could be heard from a mile away.

“What are you waiting for? Get these _heathens_ off of this property!”

“Are we ready for this?” Varric chuckled right before the dam broke.

“As ready as we’re going to be,” Merrill responded, glitter bombs already in hand.

And then everything went to shit.

The rioting in the yards was every bit as intense as the last time, the screaming and the fighting every bit as overwhelming.

This time, though…this time it came with the knowledge that everyone would see it later. This time there would be no denying who started it. This time the Chantry themselves were laying it all out for everyone to see.

Hawke found herself looking up and all around, even from the thick of it, just watching everyone staying in place with their cell phone cameras. She didn’t know how much Varric’s audio would be worth once everything got going, or how much any of it would have caught of Stannard explicitly inciting it, but there were others, and they were everywhere, and that was all the reassurance she needed.

***

A long day and some minor scrapes and bruises all around was, obviously, to be followed up by a night at the Hanged Man.

Hawke couldn’t deny that she was grateful not to have sustained another head injury that might have kept her from it, even though she was still more than willing to deal with whatever putting herself in the middle of the fray might entail.

That probably would have made all of the make-up she’d had to scrub off of her face excessively difficult to deal with, though.

Carver, Aveline, and Donnic met up with them at the tavern, all three of them understandably relieved that this occasion was far less turbulent than the last.

“I’ve been checking Twitter all day since _the thing_ ended,” Varric laughed. “I haven’t seen too much yet, but—”

“We will,” Hawke interrupted with a smile. “Same goes for Facebook, but…we will, I _know_ we will.”

“Oh, we _definitely_ will,” Anders smirked. “Just give it time. I’m sure there’s a lot of people spending all night with coffee and Final Cut compiling all the footage into YouTube-friendly files.”

“I’m just glad you’re all alright,” Aveline told them, looking directly at Hawke.

“It _was_ pretty much the same as last time overall,” Fenris admitted, and Hawke simply tried to pretend she didn’t see Aveline’s scowl. “But we were all able to make it out relatively unscathed, so…”

“It might be a while before this happens again,” Anders added. “This one was more for the evidence, so it will probably tide us over for a bit.”

 _“Good,”_ Aveline, Donnic, and Carver said as one.

Isabela called Carver’s name at that, and Hawke couldn’t help but grin when the song started and she heard that he actually took her suggestion.

_“So much pain, we don’t know how to be but angry, feel infected like we’ve got gangrene, please don’t let anybody try to change me, me, just me in the middle of a sea full of faces, full of faces, some laugh, some salivate, what’s in your alleyway, recycling bins or bullet cases…”_

“You know, he’s actually pulling this off,” Varric smiled as he lit a cigarette.

“Yeah,” Hawke looked on proudly. “Yeah, he is.”

_“It’s not equal, it’s not fair, we’re different people but we’re not scared, we ain’t never scared to pave a new path, make a new street, build a new bridge…”_

“It was incredible today, though,” Merrill spoke up cheerfully. “She just put the justification for all of it right into our hands! I mean, how could she not realise?”

“She’s reckless,” Donnic said. “Reckless and power hungry. She thinks she’s above the law and, unfortunately, unless the Free Marches ever starts taking steps towards separation of church and state like Ferelden’s trying to do, she kind of is.”

“So, what, she can just get away with murder?” Merrill asked angrily.

“Effectively, yes,” Anders sighed. “And she has.”

_“Your soul is alive but they want it for ransom…”_

“I know, love,” Hawke looked to him with wide, sympathetic eyes. “I know.”

“Sorry, Anders,” Merrill added quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry, Merrill,” he smiled softly back. “I know, it’s alright…”

_“And rise together, we rise…”_

“No, it isn’t,” Aveline shook her head. “It really fucking isn’t. The shit that woman gets away with, I just…I don’t understand it. I took this job to uphold _justice,_ because that’s how I raised to believe _the law_ is supposed to work, but no, I guess that’s what the fucking guerrillas who can’t even show their faces out of fear for people like me are for, isn’t it?”

“Aveline…” Hawke looked over to her friend with concern, having never seen her question her beliefs so profoundly.

_“Lost hope and found need, grounded by our surroundings…”_

“Sorry, Hawke,” Aveline said promptly, staring at the table. “I hate this, though, I really do. I can’t support you in any ways that matter because then it’s my ass on the line and I suppose that’s selfish, but how the fuck else am I supposed to make a living? I’ve never done anything else and I wouldn’t know where to start. And it’s shitty that I truly thought I was doing the right thing once upon a time, but I’ve learned over and over and over again that it is literally _impossible_ to do real good in this world in my profession.”

_“Urgency amber to red like the turning leaves, oh please let the hurting cease, don’t let apathy police the populace, we will march across those stereotypes which were marked for us, the answers obvious, we switch the consonants, change the swords to words and lift continents, rise together, we rise together…”_

“Any luck with those muggings in Hightown?” Merrill cut in, clearly hoping to reassure Aveline.

In reality, Hawke couldn’t claim that she actually disagreed with anything that Aveline had just said, but she also agreed with Merrill’s implied thought that this was not the time for such things.

“Not yet,” Aveline said heavily.

So that wasn’t of much help, after all.

_“If you believe in redemption, I’m calling to you from another dimension…”_

Hawke lit a cigarette while everyone stared into their drinks for a moment, and Carver broke the silence after he and Varric switched places.

“So, Stannard _really_ showed her miserable fucking face there?” Carver chuckled, seeming to sense the tension he’d walked into.

“I’m afraid no one got the chance to hit her like you asked,” Merrill smiled.

“Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of desire,” Fenris added with a smirk.

_“You never listen to a word that I said, you never seen me for the clothes that I wear, or did the interest go so much deeper, it must have been the colour of my hair, public image…”_

“Didn’t we tell Varric he isn’t allowed to attempt to sing in this register anymore?” Hawke laughed when Isabela came up to the table. “You’re supposed to be our enforcer!”

“I _know,_ believe me,” Isabela laughed in turn. “But you see, the thing is, that asshole signs my cheques, and I need those to pay bills.”

“Capitalism strikes again,” Anders teased.

_“What you wanted was never made clear, behind the image was ignorance and fear, you hide behind his public machine, still follow the same old scheme…”_

“This is that awful John Lydon impression we were all talking about the other day, dear,” Aveline noted to Donnic with a smirk.

“Say no more,” Donnic chuckled in response.

“He’s really not so bad,” Merrill defended. “He should stick to a slightly lower range, sure, but it isn’t terrible.”

“No, Kitten, it’s not,” Isabela sighed. “But we still don’t want to _encourage_ this.”

“Of course not,” Merrill nodded with a small grin. “So, capitalism strikes again, right?”

“Right,” Anders smiled.

_“Public image, two sides to every story, somebody had to stop me, I’m not the same as when I began, I will not be treated as property…”_

“So…what happens next?” Hawke asked, looking up from her cigarette. “I know footage has to be edited and everything, but…is that it? There’s nothing going on in the meantime?”

“Bloggers are blogging,” Anders shrugged. “It’s that footage that’s really going to drive it home, though. She gave us fucking _everything,_ so now we just have to wait.”

“Yes, love,” Hawke shook her head before taking a drag. _“That_ is the hard part.”

“Do you really think it’s going to be that easy, though?” Merrill asked anxiously. “Yes, that terrible woman didn’t do much to hide what we wanted to expose, but how much do you think it will change?”

“Not enough, I’m sure,” Anders admitted. “I know that’s bullshit, believe me, but it’s all too likely. _But_ we have to start somewhere, right?”

“Right,” Isabela agreed quickly before kissing Merrill and heading back to her station.

_“Public image, you got what you wanted, the public image belongs to me, it’s my entrance, my own creation, my grand finale, my goodbye…”_

“It’s a start,” Anders said firmly, clearly more for himself than anyone else, and Hawke began watching her cigarette more closely again.

Varric stepped down and Isabela gave herself the next turn, but first making a point to tease into her microphone, “I think you’ll like this one, Dwarf.”

Hawke recognised the song immediately, and glared at Varric when he let out a very quick but very loud burst of laughter. “Dammit, Rivaini…”

_“Hooray, I awake from yesterday, alive but the war was here to stay…”_

“What’s so damn funny?” Hawke asked through a cloud of smoke.

_“Through the noise and to the sea, not to die but to be reborn away from the land so battered and torn, forever…”_

“I don’t remember how it came up, but the other day we somehow got to the fact that I didn’t know it’s a cover,” Varric rolled his eyes and reached for his cigarettes. “And now she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Maker, Varric, really?” Carver chuckled.

“I actually didn’t realise that, either,” Anders admitted.

 _“But_ the very important difference here is that _you,_ love, don’t have an awful tendency towards being such an _insufferably_ pretentious motherfucker when it comes to music,” Hawke cut in.

She decided to leave out the part about Anders having additional excuses for missing out on such things, remembering when he’d told her of how little exposure he’d had to music at all for far too much of his life, and how much sense that made.

She also couldn’t help but think, however, of how very fitting it was to come up in the context of how they’d spent the earlier part of their day.

“Honestly, Varric, you of all people,” Fenris added casually. “It’s fucking Hendrix, even I know that.”

“She _is_ definitely doing the Christian Death version, though,” Hawke noted. “Of course, Varric, she _might_ just be doing her part in the effort to dissuade you from singing more songs you can’t pull off.”

“I hate you,” Varric mocked.

“I know,” Hawke smiled.

_“Oh say, can you see, it’s really such a mess, every inch of earth is a fighting mess, giant pencil and lipstick tube shaped things continue to rain and they cause screaming pain, and the artist stains from silver blue to bloody red as the big fine sandy sea is straight ahead…”_

“Fuck if she isn’t killing it, though,” Anders mused.

“That she is,” Merrill agreed, looking towards her wife with loving eyes.

“How come you haven’t put anything in yet, love?” Anders asked, and Hawke exhaled in a huff of smoke and ridiculous frustration.

“Nothing _feels_ right,” she explained, laughing a little in an effort to at least try to make fun of herself for how silly she was sure she sounded. “You know? Today feels like it _means_ something so I guess I want—wait, neither have you, love.”

“Yeah, same,” Anders laughed that same laugh in response.

“Fucking nerds,” Carver interjected.

“You’ve done enough today, don’t you think?” Aveline asked. “I mean it, what you’re trying to do here, it’s…”

“It’s very brave,” Carver offered when Aveline didn’t continue. “Admirable.”

“Yes,” Aveline nodded. “So fucking enjoy yourselves, alright? Leave the sulking to those of us who couldn’t be there.”

“I’m not _sulking,_ Aveline,” Hawke retorted in a playfully defensive tone.

“Sorry, Hawke, we’re still not quite used to this newfound sulk deficit,” Varric chuckled. “You’ll have to excuse us, old habits and all.”

“Okay, but,” Hawke smirked and lit another cigarette. “How about fuck you.”

“Just pick a fucking song,” Varric sighed.

“Fine, fine,” Hawke shook her head and picked up a songbook, placing it between her and Anders. “Let’s pacify our overbearing parents, love.”

_“So my darling and I make love in the sand to salute the last part of our journey’s end, our machine has done its part of the work with a scratch of the bottle and we bid it farewell, giant stars and moonbeams greet us with a smile before we get going we take a last look and they didn’t know us while the artists die, the artists die…”_

“Good,” Aveline smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Mother,” Hawke sighed while intently scrolling through Isabela’s massive catalogue as though there was any point in doing so. It really was only to humour Aveline, especially since none of them used the books much at all anymore, instead having grown to simply assume that Isabela would have whatever they wanted.

And no one had been wrong about that yet.

“Ooh wait, I’ve got one,” Hawke exclaimed when a thought came to mind, and she turned from the book to write down her choice on one of the queue slips.

“Actually, wait, hand me one,” Anders added hastily. “I, umm…I’ll take them up.”

He smiled awkwardly, and Hawke wondered if he might even be embarrassed by what he was thinking of singing, but she handed over her paper for him to deliver, in any case, and strongly in spite of her curiosity.

_“So down and down and down and down and down and down we go, hurry, my darling, we mustn't be late for the show, Neptune champion comes from an aqua world that’s so very near, right this way smiles have earned me, I can hear that man is full of cheer, that man is full of cheer…”_

Isabela’s karaoke track was definitely an abridged version, missing some lengthy guitar solos, but it made sense that she’d likely done that on purpose. After all, the point of such a night was to sing, and taking up ten minutes with one song and its many instrumental breaks, no matter how good they were, would be considered bad manners in Isabela’s line of work, especially when she was the one performing.

Hawke couldn’t help but catch how relieved Anders looked at her name being called next, and she swiftly rose to take the microphone from Isabela.

_“The atmosphere’s strange out on the town, music for pleasure, it’s not music no more, music to dance to, music to move, this is music to march to, to war dance…”_

The lyrics felt more than appropriate, and it was reassuring that Anders watched her with a smile.

_“The war dance, a war dance…”_

This was a good day. And it was made so much better by Anders’s more important reassurance, that this time was sure to truly mark the beginning of something big.

_“Look at graffiti scrawled on the wall, you know the reason outside the door, you have something nasty in your mind crawling to get out, to war dance, the war dance, a war dance…”_

She fucking hoped it was, at least.

It had to be, though. She would just have to keep telling herself that.

_“We walk ‘round the pitch, honesty is sick, try to be honest, look what you get, the food runs short and the money talks, one way out, your premonition is correct, the war dance, a war dance…”_

She stepped down with a soft, satisfied smile upon handing the microphone back to Isabela, and Anders was already anxiously beginning to stand in anticipation of hearing his name.

“Maker, I hope I can pull this off,” Hawke heard him whisper nervously while they switched places, and she immediately lit a cigarette upon sitting down, which was just in time before the collective reaction to the introductory notes to Anders’s selection.

“Oh no, he fucking _isn’t,”_ Varric said, without a hint of ridicule or even his usual teasing.

“Holy fuck, he _is,”_ Carver followed.

“Oh Creators, this should be good,” Merrill said softly.

Neither Fenris, Aveline, nor Donnic added anything, but all eyes were on Anders, including Isabela’s when she stepped down to watch with them.

Hawke instantly started promising herself she wouldn’t cry, a promise she already knew would be in vain.

It wasn’t something either she or Anders would usually be expected to listen to, but everyone in their group had become invested in it, and Hawke couldn’t imagine anything more emotional Anders could have picked to sing on a night like this—or possibly any night, in reality.

It’s a damn shame Elissa wasn’t there.

_“Well, you almost had me fooled, told me that I was nothing without you, oh and after everything you’ve done, I can thank you for how strong I have become, ‘cause you brought the flames and you put me through hell, I had to learn how to fight for myself, and we both know all the truth I could tell, so I’ll just say this as I wish you farewell: I hope you’re somewhere praying, praying…”_

Hawke wondered how many different people he could possibly be picturing, how many different guards or even bullshit doctors and therapists were circling through his head. He was definitely audibly straining his voice work for the song, albeit probably unnecessarily, and this was surely not helped by his not having planned to sing it. Hawke was sure if he’d thought of it ahead of time, he could have made it work easily, but the raw emotion more than made up for it regardless.

_“I’m proud of who I am, no more monsters, I can breathe again, and you said that I was done, well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come…”_

Hawke wasn’t sure when she and Isabela had also begun singing along from the table, but there they were.

_“‘Cause I can make it on my own and I don’t need you, I’ve found a strength I’ve never known, I’ll bring thunder, I’ll bring rain, when I’m finished they won’t even know your name…”_

She was sure that neither Isabela nor she had meant to belt that bit out as hard and as loud as they had, but one glance at Anders indicated that he’d found it encouraging, and the way he looked up from his shaking hands and even manage a small smile in their direction made her think they were okay to keep doing so.

_“You brought the flames and you put me through hell, I had to learn how to fight for myself, and we both know all the truth I could tell, so I’ll just say this as I wish you farewell: I hope you’re somewhere praying, praying, I hope your soul is changing, changing, I hope you find your peace falling on your knees, praying…”_

The part Hawke found most overwhelming was that she had no doubt Anders meant that at face value; yes, these abusers had better be praying for themselves and their souls before they face the god whose name they invoked to commit their atrocities, but also the idea that recognizing their wrongdoings and changing their ways should so much as be considered an option.

Hawke herself could never entertain such a thought, and actively wished nothing but harm upon these people she’d never even met, while Anders had always known on some level that they were all beyond redemption but still seemed so intent on fighting back peacefully and giving them a chance for as long as they’d leave him the option.

Of course, if this protest was to be taken as any sort of sign, it looked like any availability of an argument for leaving said option open would soon be coming to an end.

_“Sometimes I pray for you at night, oh someday maybe you’ll see the light, oh some say in life you’re gonna get what you give, but some things only god can forgive…”_

It was a fairly busy evening at the tavern, too, which made it feel all that much more tense that nearly everyone at their table was in some stage of crying by then. Even Fenris was mouthing along to the words, and Hawke could have sworn she heard humming here and there among the rest of their friends.

“No, I don’t want to follow _that,”_ Merrill whispered to Isabela while refusing a piece of paper, making it a safe assumption that the queue had been emptied despite the crowd around them.

Hawke noticed that her hands were shaking as hard as it had looked like Anders’s were as she took in her cigarette, and even Carver appeared affected while he picked up a pen and took one for the team over Merrill’s apprehension over going next.

_“I hope you’re somewhere praying, praying, I hope your soul is changing, changing, I hope you find your peace falling on your knees, praying…”_

Hawke heard Isabela’s voice crack singing along when she walked past to return to her station, just as everyone else’s had done at least once by that point, including Anders’s.

“Fuck, love,” Hawke’s own voice broke when Anders sat back down. “That was…”

His eyes were red, and he very much looked like he’d sounded. All of those feelings that had strained in his voice but made it all that much more pure echoed in his face. He looked absolutely exhausted, but she had no doubt he’d needed to do that.

_“I’m goin’ out west where the wind blows tall…”_

“That brother of yours is making himself look better and better all the time, you know,” Varric laughed at Carver’s choice of tension-breaker. “His throat’s gonna feel _this_ in the morning, though, I bet.”

“Your father a Tom Waits fan, too?” Anders asked quietly, and it sounded like that softness and lack of volume was all he had left in him.

“A little, yeah,” Hawke nodded. “He wasn’t _as_ big of a deal with Father, though. I think Carver got this one mostly on his own.”

“This song _was_ in Fight Club,” Aveline noted.

“Good point,” Hawke nodded. “We watched that a lot when we were younger. _A lot._ All four of us.”

She hoped that by “four” it was obvious that she was referring to Aveline, Carver, Bethany, and herself, because she was suddenly too tired herself for even that little bit of further elaboration.

He didn’t question, in any case.

_“I know karate, voodoo too, I’m gonna make myself available to you…”_

“Not his best,” Norah chuckled when she approached to collect their empty glasses. Unfortunately they hadn’t seen much of her, given the growing population density the Hanged Man appeared to be acquiring. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“Aww, why not?” Varric teased. “What’s the point of any of this if we don’t get to use you as extra fuel to the giving-Junior-shit fire?”

“Because I’d rather get to tell him to his face myself, asshole,” Norah laughed. “It’s more fun for me that way.”

“I hope you two stay together forever, you know that,” Varric smiled.

_“Well, I don’t lose my composure in a high speed chase…”_

Hawke turned to Anders, who met her eyes and read them easily, responding to her silent query with a nod.

“Leaving so soon?” Aveline asked.

“Damn, you really got that from _that?”_ Hawke looked towards her friend, legitimately impressed.

“Come on Hawke, I’m a master of observation and I know you better than you know yourself half the time,” Aveline laughed. “Don’t fuck with my powers.”

“Fine, that’s fair,” Hawke sighed and finished her cigarette. “And…yes, we are.”

They made their goodbyes, waving to Carver as they rushed out, both of them beyond ready to be home and by themselves.

Although Hawke still found herself unable to resist the urge to pull up YouTube and turn her phone’s volume all the way up, making sure to hit pause on the CD player once they were in the car.

“Anders,” Hawke said softly after a minute or so, leaning back in her seat. “Love, I don’t want anyone who hurt you—who hurt _anyone_ in this fucking system—to find peace. I want them to suffer for what they’ve done. Is that wrong?”

_“You brought the flames and you put me through hell, I had to learn how to fight for myself…”_

“No, love,” he replied hoarsely. “No, I don’t think it is.”

“But you don’t?” She worried she sounded judgmental, even accusatory, but she was genuinely only looking to understand.

_“I hope you’re somewhere praying, praying…”_

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, love,” he sighed. “I guess…I guess I wish I _could_ wish them well like that.”

“It’s not wrong if you can’t, love,” she followed quickly. “The fact that you even want to is commendable enough.”

“I don’t want to be able to say it for _them,”_ he explained. “I have to wonder, though, how disconnected from it all I’d have to become to find anything even close to peace with it. I don’t know if it’s possible, but being able to put _that much_ distance between me and…me and…I guess it just sounds nice.”

_“Falling on your knees, praying…”_

“But there can be no peace, love,” Hawke stated bluntly, sounding far harsher than she’d intended. “The best we can ask for is justice, _especially_ for people who’ve been through what you have. You of all people should know that.”

“Peace is the best we can _hope_ for,” Anders replied dolefully. “What else _can_ we hope for?”

“Burn them,” she retorted. “You’ve said it before, yourself, love. Burn their fucking Chantry to the ground.”

“Love…” He took a long, deep breath and shook his head. “Vengeance isn’t justice.”

_“I’ll bring thunder, I’ll bring rain…”_

“Like fuck it isn’t,” she exclaimed quickly. “What’s even the point of all this, then? You’re the fucking revolutionary here, Anders, you’re the one with the plans and the fucking _hope,_ and you mean to tell me you don’t ever intend to settle this?”

_“I had to learn how to fight for myself…”_

“Trista, I…no,” he sighed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I know the score, love.”

“I’m sorry, love,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap—”

“You’re not wrong, though,” he interrupted, and it sounded like he was internally chastising himself. “I’m not fucking naïve, Trista. I know too damn well that there’s only one way those bastards will ever change, and that’s if we fight back. We can’t give them a choice because they _will_ choose to keep hurting us. They will choose sitting on their damn high horses and fucking _ruining_ people, pretending they’re acting in the name of the Maker. I know there must be violence, because I know _they_ will choose violence _every fucking time._ I know, love, I do. But can you fucking blame me for wishing there was another way?”

_“Some say in life you’re gonna get what you give…”_

“No,” she whispered after a pause. “No, I don’t suppose I can. I only want to be there for you…to be there when it comes. When it comes down to it the only way it can. For you, for my father, even for Bethany.”

“I know, love,” he replied, cracking a small and possibly forced smile. “Things _are_ happening now, though, we know that. Today was big, and tomorrow it might be bigger yet.”

“One can only hope, love,” she uttered almost inaudibly. “One can only hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, an update!
> 
> Sorry this took a million years, especially when it took a million years for _this._ I know this is a lot of establishing, but it's still important in the long run, right? And I swear I tried to get this out faster, I really did. Alas, a) I have been so deep in Mass Effect hell and my writing is reflecting this a little too well and b) that whole obvious foreshadowing thing has given me a bit of a mental block on being able to write this? I'm working on figuring it out, but...yeah.
> 
> And the "the people united" chant is a silly little shoutout to my younger days when I was more active (and more able-bodied), and the fact that I have literally never attended a protest where that _wasn't_ shouted at some point or another, lol.


	77. Prodigious and Portentous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: nothing much aside from some vague references to Chantry abuse and mentions of Bethany and Malcolm, as well as some nods to how toxic Leandra was, but obvious foreshadowing not only continues to be obvious, but now really starts to _hurt_
> 
> ["One Song Glory" from Rent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgTObLnwYB4)   
>  "Digital Bath" by Deftones   
>  ["Big Dumb Rocket" by Our Lady Peace](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-iRrZvfwl0)

_“One song glory, one song before I go…”_

Hawke came back inside from the fire escape to see Anders playing with his acoustic guitar on the couch while Pounce watched intently.

_“Glory, one song to leave behind, find one song, one last refrain, glory from the pretty boy frontman who wasted opportunity…”_

It was nice to see him using it more often, and he was starting to get pretty decent at it. This one felt like a good piece for him to practice with, too, as it simply worked so well for Anders as a person: it worked with his voice, his demeanor, his very aesthetic.

This was very nice to come inside to see.

_“One song, he had the world at his feet, glory in the eyes of a young girl, a young girl, find glory beyond the cheap coloured lights, one song before the sun sets, glory on another empty life…”_

It was late afternoon on a Sunday, and they were simply biding time before heading over to her mother’s for dinner, as they’d promised. Her mother was, of course, anxious to see them after the events of the previous day, but Hawke was continuously astounded by how proud of them her mother was, as eager to talk about it despite how much she worried.

_“Time flies, time dies…”_

Hawke couldn’t help but wonder if Fenris had taught him that one. For as difficult to picture as that may have been, she somehow couldn’t have put it past him, either.

_“One blaze of glory, glory…”_

She leaned into the kitchen doorway, just watching and smiling, contentedly staring when she felt her phone buzz from her pocket.

“Mother?” She sounded oddly panicked when she answered, which caused Anders to stop abruptly and look her way, although she nodded and mouthed and gestured at him to indicate that she wanted him to continue.

Aveline’s recent tales from work must have had her more on edge than she’d realised.

“Go on, love,” she whispered when Anders yet remained silent, gently placing her hand over the receiver until he finally picked up from where he left off, and she wondered if he could see the way her face lit up before he turned his attention back to the strings beneath his fingertips.

_“Find glory in a song that rings true, truth like a blazing fire, an eternal flame…”_

“Is that Anders I hear?” Her mother asked, causing the both of them to chuckle softly.

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke replied with such clear affection in her voice. “He’s been learning how to play, and…”

_“Find one song, a song about love, glory, from the soul of a young man…”_

She let herself trail off, though, when she noticed how far she’d lowered her volume lest Anders hear and let self-consciousness stop him again.

“He sounds beautiful,” her mother noted with an audible smile. “Good taste, too. _Rent_ is one of my favourites. You’ve done well with that one, Trista.”

“Thanks, Mother,” Hawke laughed quietly. “Anyway, what’s up?”

_“Glory like a sunset to redeem this empty life…”_

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen the news today, dear,” she answered, sounding downright excited.

“No, Mother, I’m a millennial, remember?” Hawke teased. “Televisions are for internet, not networks.”

“Maker’s breath, Trista…”

_“Time flies and then no need to endure anymore, time dies…”_

“Oh wait,” Hawke’s mother sidetracked right as Anders was about to set down the guitar. “Does he know anything from _Les Mis?”_

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Hawke laughed. “Hold on—love, my mother would like to me to request something from _Les Misérables,_ if you can.”

“Sorry, love,” Anders smiled. “I’m afraid my repertoire isn’t too impressive at the moment.”

“Oh, well,” Hawke’s mother huffed playfully, apparently having heard. “How about—”

“Anything from _West Side Story,_ love?” Hawke asked, already knowing exactly what the next request was.

“Sorry, love,” Anders said again.

“Alright, alright,” Hawke’s mother conceded lightly. “Tell him to keep going, in any case.”

“My mother requests you don’t stop playing, anyway,” Hawke relayed, adding a harshly sarcastic air to her tone when she added, “I apologise, love, that I suppose you are simply to be an _object_ for an old woman’s _amusement.”_

“That’s quite alright,” Anders laughed. “Love you, too, Leandra.”

He made sure to raise his voice for the latter statement, which brought a brief burst of sincere laughter from Hawke’s mother.

_“You move like I want to, to see like your eyes do, we are downstairs where no one can see new life break away…”_

“Well done, Trista, really,” she reiterated.

“I know,” Hawke mused. “Now, you called for a reason, yes? Something that presumably absolutely cannot wait another few hours?”

_“Tonight, I feel like more…”_

Fenris definitely taught him this one, there was no doubt about that.

“Alright, fine, it’s nothing that can’t wait,” her mother admitted. “Pardon me for being a little enthusiastic about my daughter’s accomplishments, however clandestine they may be.”

“Mother,” Hawke retorted sternly. “You know there are some government officials that have some very fucked up ideas about just what kind of organisation has been…ah, organising.”

_“You make the water warm, you taste foreign, and I know you can see the cord break away, ‘cause tonight I feel, I feel like more…”_

“No one’s tapping your phone lines, dear,” her mother sighed. “Even Kirkwall’s oft misguided law enforcement has better things to do.”

“I _really_ like this version of you, have I mentioned?” Hawke laughed.

It had been truly fascinating, what a turnaround in their relationship living apart and almost severing it had made. Varric at one point recently likened her to Helga Hufflepuff, after hearing that she’d made a passing comment about wanting to take in all of the mentally ill children who had to work even harder to hide their symptoms due to having Chantry sympathisers for parents, and how much more it must hurt to feel like their parents inherently hate them.

Which made it all that much more strange to think of how Hawke had once feared she was in a similar position. Her mother had never gone anywhere near defending the Chantry or the Circle system, of course, but Hawke had once genuinely worried that she might have believed in it in her own way, somewhere deep down, and that one day she could snap and send away both Hawke sisters after she’d finally had enough.

_“You breathed and then you stopped, I breathed then dried you off and tonight I feel, I feel like more…”_

“Yes, I know,” Hawke couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh of her own. “Aveline and Donnic have had their hands full with…fuck, please tell me you’ve been watching after yourself.”

“Trista—”

“Mother.”

There was a tense pause, Hawke’s response coming out far more scathingly than she’d intended.

“I’m fine, dear,” her mother started again. “I’ll be alright, I promise. Besides, _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to worry about you, not the other way around. And Maker knows I haven’t always…”

_“I’ve never seen your breath before but I’m disgusted by the thought of waiting anymore, if I look into your eyes, will you notice me or notice it or fly into this accident…”_

Hawke genuinely wondered if this drastic turnaround in their relationship would ever cease to be so fucking jarring. She was grateful for it, of course she was, but she hoped it would one day stop throwing her for such a loop.

_“I don’t want to find the big dumb rocket on your mind, I don’t want to find that it’s mostly you and mostly me and a tired gun that’s not empty…”_

“It’s alright, Mother,” Hawke said sympathetically when her mother didn’t continue speaking. “It’s alright, I just…I _do_ worry, okay? And you can’t stop me, so you’ll have to learn to deal with it, so there.”

_“I’ve never been this sad before but I’m disgusted by my fingertips and what they’ve done, if I look into your eyes, if it must be true, you must believe I’ve never seen such violent things…”_

She still worried her mother would blame how much she really did worry about it on her bipolar or her anxiety or her…something, were she to explicitly admit to it. Things had gotten so remarkably better between them, but she couldn’t imagine straight up telling her mother how afraid for her she was, and how her fears were based entirely on simply getting a bad vibe from the whole situation.

But she couldn’t seem to shake it, no matter how hard she tried. She told herself it was only a feeling, that there was no logic in perseverating on the anxiety over this feeling having any even remotely possible real-world implications, but…

It was a damn bad feeling, though, and it carried an absurdly burdensome weight.

“And _that,_ dear, is not at all what I called about, regardless,” her mother added.

“Okay, so, what _did_ you call for?” Hawke put on her best smile, hoping it would translate to her cadence and brush over the previous ongoing tension.

“The news is already covering that little, hmm, _display,”_ her mother said cheerfully. “They’re reporting that some of the footage that’s been posted to YouTube is already seeing hit counts in the tens of thousands. That’s good, right? That sounds good.”

“Andraste’s tits, are you really…I mean, umm, yes. Yes, that’s good. That’s very good.” She truly was so ecstatic to hear it, that it was worth having to power through such moments of her mother failing to understand something so obvious entirely because it was based in the internet.

“Good, I thought so,” her mother reaffirmed. “Especially since it’s making the Grand Cleric nervous. It sounds as though even people outside of the cause are already calling for her to take a stand, after the act of Circle aggression caught on camera. She’s declined all interviews so far, and there’s one exceptionally unexceptional Chantry brother who’s been speaking for her entirely in terribly vague statements, but—”

“Sebastian?” Hawke interrupted. “Pious fuck with an extremely punchable looking face?”

“Yes, that’d be the one,” her mother exclaimed. “Sebastian Vael, I think it was. I’m sure your brother could take him.”

“Mother, did you just,” Hawke choked through an obnoxiously loud and sudden burst of ungodly cackling.

She really did like this new version of her mother, and tried that much harder to ignore her gut instinct that this would be too good to last.

“Oh, Trista,” her mother sighed. “I miss your father every day, you know, but now more than I ever have before. Maker, I wish he could see this. Change is in the air, dear, and you’re a part of it. He’d be so proud of you. _I’m_ so damn proud of you.”

“Mother…” Hawke’s voice cracked. This was all far more than she’d ever dreamed possible.

For the first time in who knows how long, she could earnestly say with certainty that her mother was family, and that she loved her as such.

She hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t too good to be true.

_“I’ve never talked to god before tonight, but I’m disgusted by…”_

“Oh, well,” her mother said lightly, emotion teeming through her voice, too. “I’m sure there’ll be more about it on later, and I’ll definitely have it on when you get here, so I’ll let you go for now. I’ll see you in a little bit, dear.”

“Alright,” Hawke exhaled an awkward nasal laugh. “See you in a little bit.”

***

“It was lovely to hear you perform today, Anders,” Hawke’s mother smiled sincerely over her tea after dinner.

“Umm, thank you,” Anders replied sheepishly. “Our friend Fenris has been teaching me to play, but he could tell I haven’t really been practicing, so…”

“Lovely,” Hawke’s mother followed insistently. “Oh, let’s check the news, shall we?”

“Oh, here we go,” Carver chuckled uncomfortably upon being met with a snippet of a cell phone video ripped from YouTube, clearly showcasing the exact second Stannard chose to incite violence.

“Oh, she just _looks_ like a bitch,” Norah laughed.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Carver sighed, shaking his head.

“Inarguable evidence,” Hawke’s mother stated bluntly. “That is unequivocally damning. That is _absolute._ But oh, Maker, why does it still feel like too much to hope that this will change anything?”

“We have to hope, though,” Anders said. “It’s all we’ve got right now.”

Hawke scowled thinking on their conversation from the previous evening, and elected not to censor her thoughts on the matter. “I still vote we burn it to the ground, love.”

Her mother looked to her at her words, and she silently braced herself for the reprimand she was certain was in store for her.

“If only,” her mother shocked them all by responding. “Please tell me you’re not going to do anything like that, dear, but…Maker forgive me, perhaps _someone_ should.”

“Mother, what the actual fuck?” Hawke half-laughed, but with an underlying edge to her tone that betrayed her entirely.

Time apart was, apparently, the best thing that ever happened to their relationship, as the woman before her in this moment was not at all the same woman she knew a year ago.

“I used to pray for the Chantry to find their way,” her mother admitted. “I used to pray that they would someday figure it out on their own, or that peaceful protest would be enough. At least in Ferelden they _stayed_ peaceful, although they never made a difference in Ferelden, either. But now…look at this, Trista. I know, I know you were there, but _look at this._ If I’d never met your father, I’d never have believed it could be like this, and I know most people have no idea. It’s so easy, after all, to look the other way when it doesn’t affect you. It’s monstrous, although I imagine that’s the kind of person I would have been. And _that_ is _abhorrent._ All of this is. And if this is how _they_ are going to respond to protest, then it is never going to be _able_ to be peaceful. I hate to say it, I truly do, but maybe you do have the right idea, dear.”

“The Grand Cleric continues to deny our requests for an interview,” the reporter on the television noted amidst the odd tension throughout the room.

“I still…I’m not sure I can take that leap,” Anders broke the silence. “Like I said last night, love, going _that_ far isn’t justice. It’s vengeance, and I’m still not willing to call them one in the same.”

“Aren’t they?” Hawke’s mother continued to surprise them. “Not always, I’ll give you that, but here? Surely, Anders, _you_ aren’t one of those ‘violence from both sides’ people. One side wants to harm those who need healing, and the other wants to stop those people from being harmed. One side will use violence regardless, the other would only use it as a means to an end. And there _are_ people whose lives _should_ be avenged. I once found the notion overly dramatic, but…I lost my husband and a daughter to fear of these abominations. Without you, Anders, I’d have lost both of my daughters. It’s been like this for _ages_ now, and nothing changes. If taking violent action is vengeful, so be it. In this case, then, vengeance _is_ tantamount to justice. What’s the Desmond Tutu quote, Trista? The one about remaining neutral during times of injustice being the same as siding with the oppressor? It’s black and white, as far as I can see, and _something_ needs to be done about it.”

“It isn’t as though I’m _neutral,_ you know that,” Anders replied defensively. “Maker knows there are many who’d be quick to brand me a _radical_ or even a _danger_ based solely on what I _have_ done. And it isn’t as though I haven’t thought about burning down a Chantry or a Circle with my own two hands, believe me. I only—”

“You’re scared, love,” Hawke interrupted when the realisation struck.

“Love, I—”

“Anders, you’re _scared,”_ Hawke repeated, eyes wide as she turned towards him. “You’re afraid of the progress we’ve made, of what’s to come. _That’s_ why you’re backtracking all of a sudden. You don’t believe this ‘vengeance isn’t justice’ bullshit for a minute, do you? You’re just afraid the day is getting close, and what exactly it’s going to mean for…for us.”

She chose to stop herself before voicing that of course he would be complicit in such an event. She wondered if maybe he knew more than he was letting on and was still trying to offer her deniability, even though he should damn well have known by then that she wouldn’t want it.

“Just keep yourselves safe, whatever you do,” Hawke’s mother smiled. “I don’t want to know much else, I’m sure, but promise me that much. I only need to know you’ll be safe, both of you.”

“I promise,” Hawke and Anders lied in unison.

“But _you,_ Mother,” Hawke decided to move on, “you’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“I have,” her mother nodded. “It’s been impossible not to ever since I found out you were involved. It’s too important to ignore, though. I tried to for years, I wanted to…I don’t know, dear. Maybe I didn’t want to get ‘political.’ Politics _are_ personal, though, we _all_ know that too well. But I’m paying attention now. I can’t look away, and it would be wrong to want to.”

“Now who needs to careful, talking like that?” Hawke laughed.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m just an old woman with a strong enough family name to be ignored by anyone who doesn’t like what I have to say,” her mother effortlessly brushed off her concern. “But if someone _does_ listen…well…”

“I’m so proud of you,” Hawke did not mean to say, but she meant the words with her whole being.

“Thank you,” her mother replied in earnest. “And I am _so_ proud of you, dear.”

It was a strange but beautiful thing, having this complete and most unexpected 180-degree turn from her mother. It was a strange and beautiful thing, to come to love her mother on her own for who she was, not just because she was “supposed to,” the way she’d “loved” her mother as a child. This was wonderful and far more meaningful, and she yet had to hope it wasn’t too good to be true.

And fuck if tea, the news, and family bonding over talks of insurrection wasn’t a damn fine way to spend an evening.

“Thank you for dinner,” Hawke echoed Anders’s sentiment after a time, as they readied to leave.

“Thank you for coming,” her mother told them, standing to hug them each goodbye.

“Same time next week?” She asked when they reached for the door.

“Same time next week,” Hawke grinned, and Anders nodded along with her.

This was certainly something, and she’d had no idea how much she’d needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I didn't exactly mean for this to happen the way it did, but the seemingly unrealistic turnaround that Leandra has made, and by extension Trista and Leandra's relationship has made, now pretty much _exactly_ mirrors my mother and my relationship with her. I intended parallels, and Leandra in-game has a lot of parallels to how my mother used to be, but this? Everything down to the Helga Hufflepuff line (which is stolen right from my irl Varric's mouth in regards to my irl mother—although in the irl version, my mother wants to adopt everyone whose parents voted for the Mean Tangerine and don't want to understand how personal that can be), is just...this is my mom and me completely. This is what actually happened. And I guess it means I _need_ to do it so literally because I really didn't plan for it to come out quite like this, but here we are. Fuck, this is gonna hurt.
> 
> I also threw in "Digital Bath" just because it definitely is something Fenris would like and Anders could totally nail it, ahaha, although I have to be self-indulgent for a second and note that I had intended to throw it into a karaoke night at some point because it's another one of my personal favourites to karaoke and quite possibly my very best (I was once told it sounded like Beth Gibbons working with Deftones, and that made me _very_ happy, lol.)


	78. Interstitial and Cautiously Melioristic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some more obvious foreshadowing, and nothing explicit but Fuck the Chantry™
> 
> ["Pray (Empty Gun)" by Bishop Briggs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yrr8H8tw3PY)   
>  ["Yes Anastasia" by Tori Amos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMhdLspttjE)   
>  ["Pyramid Song" by Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3M_Gg1xAHE4)   
>  ["The Space In Between" by How to Destroy Angels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jF6VO4nk1Cs)

“I heard it’s even gotten the Divine’s attention!” Lirene laughed with Hawke late Wednesday afternoon. With each passing day, Anders’s promise of fellow insurrectionists poring over Final Cut to give them everything offered more and more hope. YouTube boasted greater content by the day: some better video quality, some better audio quality, others simply more intense by the sheer merit of being closer to the action, or higher up and therefore able to offer a wider perspective.

Hawke had known going in that this protest was an unprecedented undertaking, but she could never have imagined the scope of it.

“They want so badly for us to be silenced,” Hawke mused smugly. “Now whose turn is it to shut the fuck up.”

“I do wish the Grand Cleric would _speak,_ though, actually,” Lirene sighed. “You’d _think_ she’d realise she can’t hide from this forever, but…”

“But damned if she doesn’t try, evidently,” Hawke retorted.

It was all any of them had been able to talk about during their weekly meeting the night before. Everyone was so excited—mildly impatient and overflowing with nervous anticipation, but excited.

“Even my mother’s talking shit now,” Hawke followed with a laugh. _“That’s_ been a fun trip.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lirene replied sincerely. “And don’t worry, _this much_ media attention and sooner rather than later, saying nothing will be every bit as damning as saying the worst thing. It’ll have to move forward eventually, whatever that might mean.”

“Here’s hoping for the best, I guess,” Hawke sighed wistfully.

“Yes, dear,” Lirene nodded. “Here's hoping, indeed.”

***

“Big Girl working overtime again?” Isabela asked as she placed a songbook down on a table adjacent to everyone’s regular table.

“She and Donnic both, yeah,” Hawke replied. “Sucks they’ve had to miss out on shit like this lately…”

“Eh, they were always hit or miss on Wednesdays, anyway, don’t worry,” Varric cut in, and Hawke only scowled in his direction.

“Oh, Fenris,” Hawke spoke up when Fenris sat down to join them. “My mother passes along her gratitude for Anders’s growing guitar skills.”

“Oh, Maker,” Anders chuckled shyly.

“Does it stop being weird?” Varric asked with a strike of his lighter. “You and your mother being all friends now, I’ve got to get used to that eventually, right?”

“Fuck if I know,” Hawke shrugged and reached for her cigarettes in turn. “I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever get used to it, either, honestly. But it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“We’re getting old, Trista,” Carver shook his head. “Settling down, letting shit go…”

“Getting along at all,” Hawke agreed with a short laugh. “It’s just…nice, I guess. Weird as fuck, yeah, but…nice.”

“Blood doesn’t make family and family doesn’t have to be blood, and I know you know that, Hawke,” Isabela noted. “And no one should ever feel obligated to make it work with their biofam if it doesn’t, but if it _can,_ then…that’s good, too. Makes life easier, I’m sure.”

Merrill hastily reached for Isabela’s hand just before she turned to walk away, quickly reaching for her and offering a hushed “I love you” and a soft kiss.

“Oh love, I didn’t tell you,” Anders started once Isabela’s set officially got going. “I was talking to Elissa earlier, and apparently Kirkwall’s bullshit is bigger news there than it is here. She says that the Fereldan Chantries are scrambling to try to distance themselves, but that Alistair isn’t letting them have it. She says he’s using it to build awareness, and to hold the _entire_ system accountable, there every bit as much as here. He’s apparently facing quite a bit of backlash over it, but he’s gaining a lot of support, too. So even if _we_ can’t get our collective heads out of our asses as a state, it sounds like we’re motivating others to, at least.”

_“Easy on the eyes, truth is like a loaded gun, you don’t wanna point that thing around here, make all of your skeletons disappear…”_

Isabela had apparently given herself the first song of the night, a likely indication that was going to be a slow one.

“Holy shit, that’s incredible,” Hawke replied.

“Elissa has a lot of social and political pull,” Anders added. “And Alistair’s always had sympathy for the cause, so the two of them together…”

_“This is real life and you’ve been living fictional, I don’t wanna hurt you, my dear, but if I got to cut you, know I will…”_

“Friends in high places,” Hawke laughed. “Weird to have those. I like it.”

“Alright, let’s start a bet,” Varric teased. “Who fixes their Chantry shit first, Kirkwall or Orlais?”

“Who are you betting on?” Fenris asked.

“Fuck if I know, Broody,” Varric admitted with a smile.

“It’s all fucking toxic, isn’t it?” Merrill sighed.

“Yes,” Anders agreed. “Yes, it is.”

_“‘Cause I’ve given you damn near every chance to make it possible, have it all but all you do is build up all the fears and drown us in your tears…”_

He and Hawke hadn’t talked about what ends they were ready to face since the conversation at her mother’s house. Not because it didn’t matter or even because they didn’t want to. After that, though, it almost felt like it no longer needed saying. They both know where they stood, both knew what they were willing to do or how far they were willing to go if it came down to it, and that was enough. They would each worry for the other, of course, and neither of them particularly wanted to think of all the progression of events could lead to, what all it could mean, but they knew they had each other in it, no matter what, and that was what mattered. And that was enough.

_“But I’ll pray for you, pray for you…”_

“Can we all just move to Ferelden if things are going so well over there?” Merrill asked, her question every bit as bitter as it was rhetorical. “Get the fuck away from this miserable place?”

“It gets so cold there, though,” Carver offered lightly.

“Oh, suck it up, bro,” Hawke retorted.

_“When all this pain is gone, when all this blood has run, when my heart’s an empty gun…”_

“Honestly, fuck knows what ‘better’ really means yet, anyway,” Anders said. “I grew up in Ferelden, remember? They like to think they’re so fucking progressive, but…fuck, you know, it’s…you know. I like Alistair a lot and I’ve no doubt Elissa’s pushing for change there as hard as she possibly can, but this shit doesn’t change overnight, and they’re only two people. Even as Prime Minister, how much can Alistair _actually_ do if no one listens or cares? If he does his best and Ferelden turns on him? I know he’s a popular leader and all, but politics are fickle as fuck and governments are really _never_ able to enact real change to help their people, are they? We can’t rely on them, if we want to see change, then we…fuck.”

_“‘Cause I can’t even feel the sun fighting with the shadows that you cast, I still see the mask and now we’re in the light, you’ve been hiding all along, I don’t want to hurt your heart, my dear, but the air is crystal clear…”_

“It’s alright, love,” Hawke whispered. “You’re alright.”

“I haven’t put anything in yet,” Anders noted, absentmindedly reaching for a pen. “Maybe I should do that.”

“That’s a good idea, love,” she followed softly, and he offered her a weak smile before picking up a piece of paper and visibly shifting all of his concentration to picking what he wanted.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Fenris sighed with a smile when Norah approached the table.

“Not that we’re desperate or anything,” Varric teased.

“You still coming over later, Carver?” Norah asked before taking everyone’s orders.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied. “Why?”

“Just wanted to see if Varric would make a face,” she laughed. “Disappointing. Anyway, what’ll it be tonight, everyone?”

Orders were placed and Norah took off, but not before taking a moment to stick her tongue out at Varric.

_“But I pray for you, pray for you, I’ll pray, I’ll pray, yeah, when all this pain is gone, when all this blood has run, when my heart’s an empty gun, when my heart’s an empty gun…”_

“She’s in a good mood,” Merrill noted happily. “You two seem really good together.”

“Thanks, Merrill,” Carver grinned. “I think so, too. We’ve actually been talking about meeting her family…”

“Oh shit,” Hawke exclaimed. “Good going, little brother.”

“I hate you, Trista,” Carver chuckled.

“I know,” Hawke responded. “But you love me.”

“Oh sod off,” Carver shook his head playfully.

“Love you, too,” Hawke laughed just as Merrill’s name was called.

_“I know what you want, the magpies have come, if you know me so well then tell me which hand I use, make them go, make it go…”_

Hawke took up a piece of paper and tried to think of what she was in the mood for, as well.

Mood didn’t seem to be something she could rely on for consistency this evening, however.

“Ready, love?” Anders asked her once she eventually jotted down a decision, and she handed her slip to him to take over to Isabela with his own.

“Is it bad that I almost want to be hopeful?” Hawke asked just before placing a cigarette between her lips.

“What do you mean?” Fenris asked.

“I only mean…you know,” Hawke got off to a poor start and shook her head. “Things keep changing. Everything, you know, nothing feels the same as it did a year ago. And there’s a lot of good in that, yeah? So can’t it…can’t it keep going? Can’t it get better?”

_“I know your mother is a good one but Poppy, don’t go, I’ll take you home…”_

“If I didn’t know any better, Hawke, I’d almost take you for an optimist,” Varric laughed.

“Maybe a little optimism isn’t the worst idea, though,” Carver defended her.

“Thus spoke the neurotypical,” Hawke jabbed back at him, anyway.

_“Show me the things I’ve been missing, show me the ways I forgot to be speaking, show me the ways to get back to the garden, show me the ways to get around, show me the ways to button up buttons that have forgotten they’re buttons, well we can’t have forgetting that…”_

“Yeah, love you, too,” Carver snickered. “Honestly, though, can it hurt?”

“I’ve always held onto the ‘expect the worst and you’ll never be disappointed’ way of thinking,” Fenris replied. “Except that Maker knows how painfully fucking inaccurate that is.”

“When the worst comes to pass, it _is_ pretty incredible how all of your expectations turn out they aren’t worth shit, yeah,” Anders noted as he sat back down. “No matter how bad they were.”

“Or even predictive,” Hawke added. “You can know exactly what’s coming but that doesn’t mean for a second that you don’t still need to _live it_ when it does.”

“Neither does it make living it any easier,” Anders said quietly and took a moment to close his eyes.

_“What have we done to ourselves, driving on the vine over clothes lines but officer, I saw the sign, thought I’d been through this in 1919, counting the tears of ten thousand men and gathered them all but my feet are slipping, there’s something we left on the windowsill, there’s something we left, yes…”_

“So, maybe a little optimism isn’t the worst idea,” Fenris said after a tense and substantial pause. “What the fuck have we got to lose at this point, anyway.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Anders smiled sadly, acknowledging Norah’s swift return with their orders.

“So now the hard part is figuring out how actually think that way, huh?” Hawke chuckled between puffs of her cigarette.

_“We’ll see how brave you are, we’ll see how fast you’ll be running, we’ll see how brave you are…”_

“Where’s Red when you need her?” Varric followed. “She’s got that whole weird maternal charm thing going on, maybe she’ll be able tell us what to do.”

“I always thought you were the mom friend, Varric,” Isabela teased as she walked past the table.

“It’s both of them, trust me,” Hawke replied with a smile. “Maker knows _I’ve_ had enough of it from them both, anyway.”

_“Thought she deserved no less than she’d give, well happy birthday, her blood’s on my hands…”_

“I hope Big Girl can come out on Saturday, at least,” Isabela added. “She’s probably the sanest of the lot of us, maybe she does have some sort of wisdom to offer.”

“And she’s the mom friend,” Varric insisted.

“And she’s the mom friend,” Isabela echoed sardonically.

_“It’s kind of a shame ‘cause I did like that dress, it’s funny the things you can find in the rain, the things that you find in the mall and the date mines, in the knot still in her hair, on the bus I’m on my way down, on my way down, all the girls seem to be there…”_

“Yeah, yeah, Varric, sod off,” Hawke shook her head. “Take the credit where it’s due for fuck’s sake. Maker knows that for as much as you _both_ drive me out of my fucking mind sometimes with your mom friend bullshit— _both of you_ —we also all know how well things would have gone without the extra mothers, so…”

_“We’ll see how brave you are, oh yes we’ll see how fast you’ll be running, we’ll see how brave you are, we’ll see…”_

Hawke found herself glancing around the table, uncomfortably tending to a cigarette and awkwardly following, “Maybe don’t repeat that one, Carver.”

“I think I can handle that,” Carver nodded.

Hawke offered him a weak smile in response to the sincerely sympathetic one he’d flashed her, and she reached for the ashtray with one hand and pulled out a fresh cigarette with the other, lighting up and then taking a long drink.

“Okay, Hawke,” Varric conceded. “I’ll take it.”

“Damn right, you will,” Hawke sighed, her attempt at another laugh falling flat.

_“Come along now little darlin’, come along with me, come along now little darlin’, we’ll see how brave you are…”_

Isabela sauntered off as Merrill’s song came to an end, calling Anders up next.

Hawke only smiled at him as he got up, hoping he might be able to find some distraction as intended.

_“I jumped in the river, what did I see, black eyed angels swam with me, a moon full of stars and astral cars and all the figures I used to see…”_

“Do you think any of this is really making a difference, Hawke?” Merrill asked. “You’re the closest to it after Anders, do you—”

“I don’t know,” Hawke admitted. “I’d like to think so. Fuck, catching the news has been _incredible,_ and I guess I have to believe it matters to a point, you know? That there has to be a purpose to all of this.”

_“All my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures, and we all went to heaven in a little row boat, there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt…”_

“And that there must be a way for it to get better,” Merrill nodded in understanding.

“Exactly,” Hawke sighed. “I can’t imagine how much harder it is for Anders and I won’t try, but…fuck, I hope that’s all just getting in his way. I know that sounds fucking terrible, but I know he wants to believe in all this, too. I know he _does_ believe it, but it kills me that it can still be so hard for him, and…I don’t know. I truly have no fucking idea.”

_“A moon full of stars and astral cars and all the figures I used to see…”_

“I heard the Divine’s pissed, though,” Varric offered.

“We were talking about that at work today, yeah,” Hawke managed a smirk. “Has she made a statement, though, or are we still going on speculation?”

“Speculation, last I heard,” Fenris answered. “If her name is already being brought into the news, though, it’s only a matter of time before she has to say something, surely.”

_“All my pasts and futures…”_

“I’m still waiting for the fucking Grand Cleric to speak for herself,” Carver added. “All I really know about her, though, is that she’s fucking spineless. She hides inside her Chantry and touts neutrality while Stannard does whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Can’t the Grand Cleric stop her, though?” Merrill asked. “I don’t know much about Chantry hierarchy, but if Stannard is Chantry appointed and the Grand Cleric runs the local branch, then…”

“Yes, Merrill, she’s effectively Stannard’s boss,” Carver confirmed. “She’s the only person in Kirkwall with the power to reign Stannard in, and she doesn’t. Because she doesn’t care, that’s all it can be. She _has to_ know what’s happening at the Gallows, especially now. If she doesn’t, that means she’s deliberately avoiding it. It’s her fucking job to oversee this shit, I learned that much working there. But she only looks the other way. She’s absolutely complicit, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

_“There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt, there was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt…”_

“I hope someone burns that place to the fucking ground, I really do,” Hawke shook her head.

“Just don’t get caught, alright,” Carver chuckled. “Although at this point, I almost wouldn’t be surprised if Mother would bail you out if you did.”

“Maker, what _have_ our lives become?” Hawke could only laugh.

She realised the cigarette between her fingers had burned down to the filter, and she dropped it in the ashtray just in time for Anders’s song to finish and for her name to be called.

She caught Anders on the way over, quickly kissing the tip of his nose solely to offer him the gesture, to make sure he knew she was there with him, for him.

She took the microphone and watched Anders sit, relieved to see how immediately Merrill and Carver started to engage him.

_“All our blood lying on the floor, sense the crowd expecting something more, opened up proudly on display, what we tried so hard to hide away, blinding light illuminates the scene, try to fill the spaces in between…”_

She decided she was going to do her best to feel optimistic about their chances. She decided it was worth a try, if nothing else.

Things did keep changing, though, that much was still true. She’d never imagined living in a world where Carver was an active part of her group of friends, or where she was both happily and voluntarily spending time with her mother.

_“Arms entwined in a final pose, narrative drawing to a close, still remain the things we couldn’t kill, in your eyes I can see it still…”_

Things did keep changing, and it was an ongoing rollercoaster she didn’t quite understand, but it was going so well. So she could try to shake off her bad feelings, shake off all of her doubts.

_“How we chose the framing of a scene, hate begins to spill across the screen, blinding lights illuminate the scene, try to fill the spaces in between…”_

She could try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a super short one of little consequence, but consider it a bridge. Things Are Happening™ and for anyone who does not follow me and has therefore not seen me rant about this endlessly on [Tumblr](http://becauseanders.tumblr.com), it's about to get kind of sort of very personal (in a different way than usual) and that is why it's been taking me so long to get things out with this one lately.
> 
> Everything will be likely explained with the next chapter. Which is actually already almost done, so hopefully there won't be as long of a wait. I'm doing my best, I promise.
> 
>  _And_ the entire rest of this story is now outlined. I've made it no secret that I have been totally winging it for a long time now, but from this point forward we have an actual plan and a mapped out story. We are heading towards an ending. It's for real now.
> 
> (Also, quick last note, shoutout to my dear friend Lana, who I am pretty much directly quoting in Isabela's comment about your biofam. More on that one later, too, though.)


	79. All That Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: I'm not even going to beat around the bush here—this is (as the title also suggests) _it,_ the one ominously labelled in my Docs as "The Thing™"
> 
> So here we go…
> 
> ["Bookends" by Simon and Garfunkel](https://youtu.be/-vbutXrrBeI)   
>  ["For All We Know" by the Carpenters](https://youtu.be/MhUcinaO2ok)   
>  ["Turn Turn Turn" by the Byrds](https://youtu.be/Cj_WqA5Ir80)

It was Saturday morning when Hawke woke up to the sound of her phone hitting the floor from vibrating off of the nightstand.

She rolled over and reached as far as she could without actually getting up to retrieve it, and her chest immediately started pounding when she saw what had caused it to fall.

She had 37 missed calls from Carver.

She was already shaking as her thumb hovered over the option to call him back. It didn’t look like he’d left a single message, which scared her even more. She instantly began to fear the worst, however unsure she was of what that could actually entail. Her breathing became panicked, enough so that Anders practically leapt up beside her.

“Love, what is it?” He sounded surprisingly awake, his usual instinct for jumping to her aid kicking in automatically.

“I—I don’t know, I don’t know, but…” She flashed her phone at him in place of words, pointing him to the red letters reading “Carver (37)” when she couldn’t open her mouth to finish the sentence on her own.

“I’m here, love,” Anders whispered. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, not sure he’d even see since she’d turned away again. She couldn’t make eye contact, not even with him, her thoughts racing at a million miles per minute when she tapped her brother’s name.

“Trista…” Carver could barely make out that much, and her stomach turned at the sound of his voice. He was crying, something she had only known him to do once in their entire lives. She imagined, of course, that he had probably done so when Bethany died, but the only time she’d ever actually witnessed it was after their father…

“Oh no,” she choked out, obvious and uncontainable fears rising faster. “Carver…Carver, what’s wrong?”

She knew, though. She already knew that she knew. The feeling in her gut reached up and cut through her lungs to grip her heart, squeezing hard enough to leech into every inch of her mind, burning everything it touched.

“It’s Mother,” they said at the exact same time.

“I got a call from Uncle Gamlen,” he explained. “For some fucking reason, he of all people was her emergency contact, so they called him first, told him—”

“No,” she interrupted. The room was starting to spin, she felt sick. She knew, she knew without a doubt what came next, but she didn’t know if she could bear to hear it. That would make it real. It couldn’t be real. “Don’t say it, Carver, don’t fucking say—”

“Don’t pull this shit, alright, not now—”

“Carver, no—”

“She’s _gone,_ Trista.” His voice cracked, his words already strained, his tears still audible. “Mother’s gone. It sounds like one of those fucking cases Aveline’s been bitching about. She went to grab something from the car or, I don’t know, I wasn’t even there, but…fuck, Trista. Bastard took everything she had and then he still… _fuck…”_

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. She’d never heard him break quite like that, and she found it unspeakably disturbing. She hated that this was apparently what she chose to focus on for the moment, but it was too surreal, too overwhelming to take in the right things in the right order.

And then she had the absolute worst thought she could possibly have conjured, one she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself for voicing out loud while her brother sobbed and the numbness set in.

“Am I her next of kin?”

“Are you fucking _kidding me?”_ He seethed for only a second before he took a deep breath and responded, “Actually, fuck, I think that _is_ how that would work…”

“Maker,” she followed, anyway, “I’m sorry, that was…that was…”

“No, it’s fair,” he sighed. “It’s, umm, it’s a lot to take in…”

“Yeah,” she deadpanned. “Yeah, it is.”

She stared at the floor from the edge of the bed. She couldn’t feel anything. She didn’t think she wanted to.

She and her mother had only just gotten on track, were only just learning how to properly be a mother and daughter to each other. They had only just begun to crack the surface, had only just begun to forge the groundwork for that clean slate they had both so desperately wanted.

And then, in an instant, all of it was gone.

Someone was weeping, cries that practically escalated into howls, but it didn’t sound anything like Carver.

It took a second to realise she was the one producing those unholy noises, which instantly brought attention to the pounding in her head from the pressure of how hard she must have been holding back, and then the pressure of feeling like it might burst upon letting go.

She was sure she was drowning, regret and downright hatred for herself pooling like water in her lungs and filling them, or choking on all the guilt cutting off her airways and asphyxiating her from the inside. It was almost funny, the fleeting but oh so bitter thought of her mother inflicting that guilt, even in death, except that allowing that thought to pass made her want to die.

She thought she heard Pounce but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t seem to sense anything in the real world around her, reality torn apart by the screaming coming from within, as well as the continuing realisation of how much was coming through to the outside.

She thought she heard Pounce again, she must have scared him off.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, how long her brother remained silent waiting for her to compose herself—if he remained silent, she wasn’t certain of that, either.

Nothing made sense, this couldn’t be right, couldn’t be real, not after everything that had come before. Enough had come before. Too much had come before.

“Carver,” she managed after a period of time, whatever it was. “You had better fucking live to be 100.”

“Same to you,” he replied. Both of them sounded like the complete wrecks they were, and in any other situation it might have been comical how they both took that reach, how she went for the first thing she could think of once any coherence could creep up on her: deflection through bad humour, just as their father would have done.

“Really, though,” he continued after another period of time, one that felt a shorter but could yet so easily not have been. “Are you, umm…are you going to be _okay?_ I mean, in terms of…oh fuck it, you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t know,” she admitted. “I appreciate the thought, though.”

She sounded sincere enough, or hoped she did. She genuinely was, at least. Perhaps that would get her somewhere on its own.

“Anders is there, I hope?”

That prompted her to look back up and turn to Anders’s side of the bed to find him. She was sure she would have noticed if he had moved, or as sure as she possibly could have been of anything, but he was so quiet.

She met his eyes and she could clearly see there wouldn’t be much she needed to explain, that her end of the conversation in context would more than speak for itself.

“Yes, he’s here,” she confirmed. She thought of trying to move. She decided she’d wait until she was off the phone.

“Call me if you need anything, alright?” Carver sounded like he was starting to calm down. She wondered if she could force herself to sound so well, too.

“Same, of course.” She might have pulled it off, actually. It was difficult to tell. “We’ll talk soon, we should probably get together—”

“Yeah, definitely,” he muttered. He was still just as bad as she was, clearly still working to suppress it just as hard.

She felt the pause, felt their conversation coming to its end, and she tried to breathe, to hold her mind and her body in one piece.

“Carver,” she made sure to add before the inevitable disconnect occurred, “I, umm…I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said delicately, the unspoken acknowledgement that the time had come to say it more often hitting them both.

She dropped her phone back on the floor once they said their goodbyes, and she was grateful Anders automatically reached to take her in, to roll her over and pull her in with all he had.

She buried her head into his shoulder and cried for what seemed like hours, and she could feel when he cried with her but he never said a word aside from longing sorries and loving endearments. She knew he had to be processing this, himself, but he didn’t say anything about how he must have felt, he only let her go for as long as she needed to.

***

The aftermath was proving to be relentless. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to face the world. She didn’t want to speak to anyone.

_“Time it was and what a time it was, it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences, long ago it must be, I have a photograph, preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left of you…”_

She’d made a playlist of as many of her mother’s favourite songs as she could come up with, and it was all she could do, to listen and to toy with it since Carver’s call. She knew this wasn’t healthy, that this wasn’t productive. She knew she was only trapping herself in her own head, perseverating the anguish to which she already so easily succumbed. She didn’t care. It was senseless like everything else. There was no reason her mother had to die, no reason any of it had to happen the way it did, so she didn’t see any pressing need to find reason in anything she did or didn’t do.

“Bookends” was all too perfect, though. So she played it again.

_“Time it was and what a time it was, it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences, long ago it must be, I have a photograph, preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left of you…”_

She had so much to do, so much to figure out, and she hadn’t gotten started on a single damn thing. She didn’t understand anything about what she was supposed to do next, only that she was the one who was supposed to do it.

It was already Sunday evening (how was it only Sunday evening?). She was planning to go to work in the next day, despite Anders and Lirene fervently agreeing that she shouldn’t, but she welcomed the distraction. She’d no doubt it would be impossibly draining to mourn like this and still have to pretend to be a person, but it somehow sounded appealing to try. She was afraid to spread herself so thin, so frazzled by the very thought, but she figured that running herself into the ground might help, might turn off her brain. At the same time, however, they’d skipped Saturday karaoke because she was trying her best to save as much of her energy and emotions as she could for the funeral plans she yet had to arrange. She knew she desperately needed to get moving on that one, but she couldn’t. It had only been the weekend, however long this weekend felt. She wasn’t ready.

_“Look at the two of us, strangers in many ways, we’ve got a lifetime to share, so much to say as we go from day to day, I’ll feel you close to me but time alone will tell…”_

“Love, you should eat something,” Anders noted softly. He sat down beside her on the bed she’d barely left in almost two days. She simply wasn’t ready.

_“Let’s take a lifetime to say I knew you well, for only time will tell us so, and love may grow for all we know…”_

“You know,” she responded hoarsely, her voice raw from how much she had still been able to feel. It was unexpected to say the least; normally she’d have shut down completely. “It’s almost funny, how it was almost like things were finally starting to fall into place. It finally really felt like I had a mother, for the first time in fuck knows, and now…”

_“Let’s take a lifetime to say I knew you well…”_

“I know, love,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, I know nothing I say will change it, but…”

“No,” she scoffed despite herself, but she quickly realised what she’d said. “Love, I’m sorry, I…that wasn’t fair, I…”

“It’s alright, love,” he replied without missing a beat. “Don’t take it out on yourself right now, I’m sure…”

He trailed off anxiously, and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

“Sure of what, that she wouldn’t want me to?” She rolled over and reached for his hand while she spoke, in overwhelming need to hold onto him. “You didn’t know my mother.”

“I suppose I didn’t really, not at the end of the day,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I never truly will.”

_“To everything, turn turn turn, there is a season, turn turn turn, and a time for every purpose under heaven, a time to be born, a time to die…”_

“You knew the best of her, love,” she admitted. “You knew the version of her I’d always wanted, who I’d only just remembered she even could be.”

_“A time to heal, a time to laugh, a time to weep…”_

She felt his fingers work their way into her hair, casually running them along her scalp in delicate, soothing motions, similar to how he pet Pounce.

It was true, of course. Her mother had taken her under her wing when she was younger, too, when times were more innocent and life was much simpler. She remembered her mother calling her in to watch public television specials with her about the hippie movement and ‘60s folk music. That wasn’t something they’d had in so long, but it was somehow comforting to think about.

Her mother could have been a different person if life had been kinder. Hawke knew she hadn’t always had it easy, and that life had left its mark on her. It didn’t make up for so much of who she had been or all of the harm she had done, but Hawke couldn’t think about that. She hated that it was so tempting. It would be something to process, to try to reconcile, but this was not that time.

_“A time to build up, a time to break down, a time to dance, a time to mourn, a time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together…”_

“It’s better you’ll remember her that way,” she spoke up again after an unrecognisable span of silence, unprompted. “You get what I wish I could have.”

_“A time of love, a time of peace, a time of love, a time of hate, a time of war, a time of peace, a time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing…”_

“Love…”

“You know, we don’t even really have pictures or anything,” she continued. “Like, sure, we’ve taken some for Facebook or whatever over the years but…I mean, we don’t really have any family portraits or anything, you know? All the baby pictures and everything were lost in Lothering. I don’t know exactly but we’ve nothing here. It’s all gone. All of it. Just like everyone, everyone but Carver and me.”

She was so numb but also so not, her words breathy and shallow as they poured from her. She couldn’t seem to stop them and she didn’t actually want to, but every single word that passed through her lips felt like it took a piece of her very soul with it.

_“A time to gain, a time to lose, a time to bend, a time to sew, a time to love, a time to hate, a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late…”_

“Carver wants you to call him, actually,” Anders noted. She could tell he didn’t want to push her any more than she wanted to be pushed, but they both knew there was no real choice in the matter. She was, after all, her mother’s next of kin, and she needed to get off her ass and try to deal with what all that would mean.

“Yeah, I'm sure he does…”

“Love, you know I’m not going to tell you not to grieve,” he offered quietly. “I understand you need to mourn or, fuck, sulk or wallow, I get it and I could never ask you not to feel what you’re feeling, but…”

“I have _no idea_ how to plan a funeral,” she finally said out loud, the thought which had been plaguing her more than any other. It was easy to focus on, though, when it was so dreadfully accurate and in fact her legal responsibility, as well as simply something to dive into which might be productive, one small piece of the reality that could temporarily drown out the rest of it. “I’m so fucked, love.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Anders replied softly. “Call your brother.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “Maybe he’ll have some insight. Fuck, words I never thought I’d say…”

She yet tried so hard not to think about the sour notes. She had to try so hard not to think about how toxic and cruel her mother could be, how brash, how hurtful in her ignorance.

She was still going to have to live with that, though. She could try to ignore it all she wanted, but those parts of her mother were going to live on with her for the rest of her life whether she wanted them to or not. But she firmly believed her mother would find that as disconcerting as she, when a year before she’d surely have thought this was in her mother’s plan for her all along.

There was progress, at least. Their relationship had potential, and some of that potential was met before it was too late.

She didn’t really know if it was better or worse that it was, if it would hurt more or less if it hadn’t been, but she couldn’t honestly regret that much. She and her mother could have a loving relationship, and that was where it was at the end. That would have to be something on its own.

That was something incredible on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally shaking right now, preparing to post this. This is ridiculously terrifying for me and I am currently praying to anyone who might listen that my worst fears are not about to come true.
> 
> This fic has felt weirdly prophetic at times. This could easily be my own mental illness talking through strange coincidence, I know; in fact, that would be the logical conclusion, of course.
> 
> But it makes me unreasonably nervous that this fic exists 100% because I wanted an AU where Hawke could dedicate "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" to Anders. Obviously this has become so much more than that, but that song is the entire reason I decided to write this. And about a week after the first chapter was published, David Bowie passed. Which was, again, likely coincidental, but it felt weird as hell all the same.
> 
> Also, not long after I decided to write a proper reconciliation arc between Trista and Carver, some unexpected big life changes occurred with my youngest blood brother, who I went about four years without seeing or speaking to, which led to a reconciliation between us that has blossomed into what is already the best relationship we've ever had. So again, weird as fuck.
> 
> Now, for my mom, who was once very much like in-game Leandra but has grown a metric fuckton. She is very probably dying. 40+ years of disordered eating is taking its toll on her, and she very rarely keeps me in the loop about anything at all, but I know it's bad. I only even knew it had actively become a real issue to begin with because there is a customer where I work who just so happens to be the daughter of my mother's best friend, and she was the one who called me. And I _knew._ I knew even before she called that something bad was about to happen, that I was going to get bad news about my mom. That probably sounds ridiculous, but I had a bad feeling that I could not shake, and I was right. After that and my mom starting to see doctors and even do what they told her, she's bought some time. But her health and weight started getting worse again, she let that one slip in casual conversation a few months back, but she still won't tell me much and she doesn't like when I ask (even though I, too, am next of kin and additionally scared of what all that might mean). Add this to the fact that she very recently almost died because she decided to ignore an eye infection to the point that it was spreading to her brain, and that the infection has since come back and she is fucking still not being proactive about it…
> 
> She is 58 years old and I don't believe for a second that she will see 60.
> 
> She scares the shit out of me.
> 
> I wasn't originally going to write a Leandra death unless my mom actually were to pass while this fic is active. But then I decided that if that doesn't happen, I need this to be a part of my processing, anyway, so it's now preemptive. Especially because I, too, will have a fuckton to deal with over how shitty our relationship once was, how close she once came to being cut out of my life completely, and how much that all still haunts me.
> 
> If she dies after I post this, though…
> 
> But yeah, I opted to mirror in-game a bit more than originally intended because that made it easier. I couldn't make it a health thing because that was too real, and I already went down that path with Marethari, anyway.
> 
> There are enough familiarities inserted here, too. My mother could have been different if life had not been so cruel to her. She has been through so much, and it shows. Also the '60s music and the public television, and even the family photos, which in real life were lost in a fire in 2002.
> 
> So here this is. Many thanks to [fereldandoglords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglords), [The_Arkadian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian), [TheStarrySkiesOfPalaven](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarrySkiesOfPalaven), and [deviantdragons](http://deviantdragons.tumblr.com) for being so supportive and wonderful when I first started even teasing this idea.
> 
> And just please, _please_ let the other weird shit be coincidence and not a pattern for this to fall into. Please.


	80. Like Someone's Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: grief in the aftermath, some implied lingering guilt, nods to dysfunctional family bullshit
> 
> ["Somewhere" from West Side Story](https://youtu.be/-BQMgCy-n6U)

The remaining Hawke siblings agreed that there would not be a funeral.

They scraped together what money they could between themselves and their friends for a direct cremation, and remained adamant in their resolve that this was all they wanted.

Not that “wanted” was an applicable word, but they couldn’t stop to think about it. They were taking it one day at a time, one step at a time.

Varric offered to start a crowdfunding campaign for them, to try to put together a proper funeral later on, but both Hawkes declined.

The obituary hit the papers that Tuesday. Hawke vaguely remembered writing it, and didn’t care to see it again after. It was extraordinarily generic, she knew that much. She wasn’t sure how much there really was to say when she finally got to it, so she just…didn’t.

“She didn’t even really have friends,” Carver noted in the back room of the clinic. There was no group session this week, but it was a good place to gather for the amount of space required to hold everyone necessary while being able to speak in private. “Coworkers, sure, but no one else much worth mentioning…other than Gamlen, and they didn’t get on, anyway.”

“She loved the sea, though,” Hawke added. _“Loved_ it. It was the only thing I remember her missing about Kirkwall when we were growing up. So, I’m not sure exactly how _legal_ it is…Aveline, Donnic…but we were thinking…”

“I never heard anything,” Aveline smiled. “You never so much as hinted, and I certainly wouldn’t have been there when this thing I don’t know about happens.”

“Our backs were turned at just the wrong moment, amazing how that worked out,” Donnic agreed.

“Gamlen’s not invited, for the record,” Hawke said directly to Carver. “I don’t care that he’s her brother, he’s a _dick.”_

“Fine by me,” Carver shrugged nonchalantly.

“He’s currently too busy lawyering up over Mother’s leftover assets to be bothered by anything else, anyway,” Hawke scowled. “Seriously, _fuck that guy.”_

“Your mother didn’t have a will?” Aveline asked, her surprise understandable.

“She did in Ferelden, but not only does it not all transfer, but we left nearly everything behind so most anything in there’s irrelevant now, anyway,” Carver explained. He’d been doing a great job teaming up with Hawke on all of this, doing his best not to let too much crash down on her.

“So by rights, all _this_ bullshit still falls to me, but as for the rest of it…” Hawke sighed, shaking her head. “Who the fuck knows.”

“I can’t stay in that house anymore, though,” Carver said. “Doesn’t matter if I’m _allowed_ or not. It’s too big now, too…empty.”

“Where have you been staying?” Merrill asked, concern in her eyes. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m staying with Norah for now, thanks,” Carver responded. “It’s a bit too early to make it a permanent thing, we know, but it buys me some time without really putting anyone out.”

Hawke thought to make a typical lovingly snide joke about how much her brother had grown, but she opted against it this time.

“If there _is_ anything you need…” Fenris started, and Carver replied only with an understanding smile.

They knew they were all in this together. And that was how they would get through it: together.

***

“Hello, darkness, my old friend,” Hawke mused, both in an attempt to casually make fun of herself and in reference to what had been her mother’s favourite song.

Or it had at one point in time, anyway. She wasn’t even sure anymore.

It was a shame Anders didn’t learn to play anything from _West Side Story_ sooner, though.

“There’s Carver,” Anders spoke up, taking her hand as her brother’s car pulled over.

They’d decided to meet along the coast, outside the city, after midnight. It was their best chance for having this all to themselves, their best chance at getting away with their plans.

A few years before, her mother would have absolutely fucking despised this. Where they were, though…she’d have loved it.

“How are you holding up, love?” Anders whispered to her, and she shook her head.

“My mother is dead, my heart’s broken,” she said flatly. “But fuck if I…”

Fuck if she wasn’t amazed by the family she had with her then and there.

Varric and Fenris got out of Carver’s car, as well, and Aveline and Donnic pulled up behind them, Isabela and Merrill in tow.

Norah wouldn’t be there as she was taking charge of the Hanged Man for the evening. Varric had considered closing the tavern for the occasion, but he was talked out of it easily enough. After all, it would have been a terribly last minute decision, and they were all concerned enough about arousing any suspicion over what they were up to.

But that also meant everyone had officially arrived.

“Tried to manage as few vehicles as possible,” Aveline explained. “No one’s likely to notice us up here, anyway, but better safe…Maker, it’s cold.”

“Still better here than Ferelden,” Isabela chuckled.

“Said no one ever,” Hawke actually managed to laugh.

“So, how are we doing this exactly?” Carver asked. “I mean, do we want to _say anything,_ and what the fuck do we even say? Or do we play it safe and dump the ashes and run?”

“I’m leaning towards the latter if we’re being honest,” Hawke admitted. “I put some aside in a little pouch, too, though, to sprinkle over Bethany. I thought she might like that.”

“That’s…yeah, thanks,” Carver’s voice cracked. “I wouldn’t have thought of that. It’s a damn shame…”

He trailed off, unable to finish his thought, but she understood.

It was a shame their father was so far away, that they couldn’t do the same with him.

“Yeah, that might have been the most fucked up, macabre thing I’ve ever done, but…you know,” Hawke said. “It felt right.”

“You said this area doesn’t see much patrol, right, Big Girl?” Isabela inquired.

“Not typically,” Aveline answered. “Nothing usually happens out here, but…”

“But everything’s all over the place with Hightown the way it is right now,” Donnic interjected. “I checked the schedules earlier today and no one’s meant to be stationed here in particular, but everyone in the whole area’s been so damn on edge…”

“I think we’ll be fine tonight, but I’d still recommend moving as fast as we can,” Aveline nodded. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but…”

“But this was the best we could do, and we need to be mindful,” Carver nodded. “I get you.”

“Perhaps we should take a walk,” Fenris suggested. “Enjoy the, ah, scenery.”

“It _is_ a nice night,” Varric added, partially to be unnecessarily coy overall and partially to poke fun at Aveline.

“Bite me, Dwarf,” Isabela scowled before Aveline got the chance, crossing her arms.

It did sound like the best course of action, though, and not one of them spoke while they wandered along the coastline, going just far enough that they could no longer see their cars.

Hawke took a jar out of the tote bag she had with her once they stopped, and that’s when she realised just how badly her hands were shaking.

“Do you need any of us to do anything?” Merrill asked, and Hawke shook her head.

“Just be here,” she told her. “This means a lot, really, I—”

“We are here, Hawke,” Fenris cut in. “We’re all here for you. Both of you.”

Just like family.

“Thank you,” both Hawkes said as one.

“Oh, Maker,” Hawke muttered as she fumbled with the lid, and Carver reached for her but stopped before taking it from her, his gesture seeming to form a question, which she answered by handing it over to him.

Suddenly, at that exact moment, she found a song in her head. A song she hadn’t heard in years, but one she somehow still knew all of the words to.

So she started singing under her breath, barely aware of it as she began.

_“There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us, peace and quiet and open air, wait for us, somewhere…”_

Carver didn’t appear to have a much easier time with what was left of their mother than she had, and for the same reasons. He glanced at her when he heard her, and he offered her a weak smile that implied approval.

Their mother would have been so happy to see this, she had no doubt.

_“There’s a time for us, someday a time for us, time together with time to spare, time to learn, time to care, someday…”_

Carver was humming along with her. He definitely didn’t know the song as well as she inexplicably did, but it was something. Aveline was audibly crying by that point, too, albeit clearly stifled.

_“Somewhere we’ll find a new way of living, we’ll find a way of forgiving, somewhere…”_

Her voice broke at the word “forgiving,” drawing further attention to how breathy and slightly out of key this rendition was.

But that was fine. Her mother would have been smiling regardless.

Fuck, how far they’d come.

“Got it,” Carver said, passing her the open jar with tremors in his hands that matched hers so well.

She stared into the water and swallowed hard, momentarily silenced. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, quickly and forcefully extending her arm so that a burst of ashes were tossed out into the approaching tide.

“Your turn,” she whispered and handed back the jar, and without thinking she took her brother’s free hand.

_“There’s a place for us, a time and place for us, hold my hand and we’re halfway there, hold my hand and I’ll take you there, somehow, someday, somewhere.”_

Carver shook out the jar until it was empty, and then dropped it gracelessly, clearly too emotionally worn by this experience to have even enough left in him to keep holding it.

Hawke did not blame him one bit, but she was also extremely grateful when Merrill ran over to pick it up and then stuffed it into her own bag.

“Ready?” Hawke asked her brother after what she hoped was a respectful silence.

“No,” he sighed heavily. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they all unceremoniously turned back towards where they’d parked, and again no one said a single word on the trek back, which somehow felt infinitely longer than the walk there.

They all shared hugs and hushed goodbyes before parting ways, and that was that.

Neither Hawke nor Anders spoke more on the ride back home. He only held her hand as much as he was able to while driving, and she took it in as well as she could.

Her heart was broken, but at least she wasn’t alone.


	81. Disarmed But Not Defenseless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: general aftermath, reference to self harm and substance abuse, mention of Bethany, some general Fuck the Chantry
> 
> ["Can You Feel My Heart?" by Bring Me the Horizon](https://youtu.be/6AVRCQBc59w)   
>  ["Veins" by Charlotte Martin](https://youtu.be/_lED2cgh1PQ)   
>  ["Gone With the Day" by Faunts](https://youtu.be/YM6VAN-LReY)   
>  ["Every Single Night" by Fiona Apple](https://youtu.be/bIlLq4BqGdg)

They went back to business as usual by Saturday. Or at least they were making more of an effort to pretend. They had to.

And that meant karaoke at the Hanged Man, which was much needed.

Hawke was still struggling to hold her head above water, but she was getting by.

Anders and Pounce always made it easier when she woke up crying, anyway.

“Jameson and ginger, double,” she told Norah. Doing better meant doing her best not to venture beyond beer or cider much anymore, but she was grateful that everyone evidently agreed that this was an exception, as no one intervened.

She could do it, she would be fine.

She hoped.

_“Can you hear the silence, can you see the dark, can you fix the broken, can you feel, can you feel my heart…”_

Carver was first up of the evening. He also desperately needed to vent in this way, but he appeared to be more ready to jump right in, whereas Hawke was still running songs through her head, still trying to figure out exactly how she felt and how to project it.

_“Can you help the hopeless, well I’m begging on my knees, can you save my bastard soul, will you ache for me…”_

She pored over the catalogue, hoping having the vast array of potential titles in front of her might help, but everything felt wrong.

But she didn’t know if anything would ever feel right again.

_“I’m sorry, brother, so sorry, lover, forgive me, father, I love you, mother…”_

Fuck, that stung.

_“Can you hear the silence, can you see the dark, can you fix the broken, can you feel my heart, can you feel my heart, can you feel my heart, can you feel my heart…”_

“Ready, love?” Anders asked her, and she shook her head.

“Not yet,” she sighed. “Go ahead with yours, though, love, please.”

_“I’m scared to get close and I hate being alone, I long for that feeling to not feel at all, the higher I get, the lower I’ll sink, I can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim…”_

She started laughing at that line, the words resonating in her very soul.

It was even funnier when Norah placed a tall glass in front of her, and she hastily took to it.

_“I long for that feeling to not feel at all…”_

She lit a cigarette and found herself fascinated by watching the cherry ignite, by the red glow impeding upon the paper wrapping with her inhale, the taste of nicotine and menthol and the residual burn flavour of the light itself.

She was grateful as ever that nobody, not even Anders, ever tried to take this away from her. Even drinking as she was prepared to on this occasion, she was no longer out of control to the point of spiralling towards a downright dangerous trajectory. Just as she was no longer abusing painkillers, and she was no longer using anonymous sex as its own drug, as it own rite of self-destruction. Cigarettes were all she truly had left, and she wasn’t giving them up.

And it was even harder than usual not to think on it so heavily as she went, not to look at it through that lens with every hit she took.

_“I can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim…”_

And she was trying her damnedest not to chug in this moment, not to trigger her own past tendencies towards bingeing for the sole sake of escapism, not to push those limits.

After all, her demons really did know how to swim.

They weren’t as loud as one could have expected in context, but she knew trying to drown them anyway would only make them angry, and that she shouldn’t let herself risk it.

“Heard from the nerd brigade?” Varric asked light-heartedly, obviously wanting to make Hawke laugh if he could.

“Aveline and Donnic?” Hawke asked, and Varric nodded as though he really needed to. “Yeah, they want to try to stop by, but…”

But her mother’s death had the viscount’s office suddenly rabid to finally catch her killer. The Amell name wasn’t worth anything at all what it had been in generations long past, but it was apparently yet enough that if the person responsible for her death had known who she was, they might have thought twice about targeting her. Aveline and Donnic had both mentioned that in only the week that had passed, the guard had shifted into complete overdrive, barely leaving anyone room to breathe, simply because there was at last a victim who’d happened to have wealthy grandparents.

It was such a reprehensible load of bullshit.

_“Can you feel, can you feel my heart…”_

Oh, but she certainly could.

“Shame, too, because Anders got Isabela to make karaoke tracks for that band Donnic’s gotten us listening to,” Hawke chuckled.

And there had been one song in particular that had Hawke burst out sobbing when she first heard it going through their discography, so she asked Anders if he would sing it.

Merrill was up first, though, her name called right after Anders sat back down from putting himself in the queue, Carver following close behind.

_“I know, I know, let the life come back and force through your veins, it goes, it goes through the protons, neutrons securing the frame, say yes say no, it’s a matter of me forcing the praise, put on the new woman, man, and child who are breaking the braces…”_

Hawke flipped through a few more pages of the book before her, although she was paying far more attention to her cigarette if she was being honest.

“Hmm,” she slipped absent-mindedly to herself when a song title actually struck her.

“Love?” Anders whispered, and she took in another long drag before responding.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” she said out loud in lieu of a proper response, and picked up a pen.

But she silently hoped they’d be out long enough to get at least a second round in.

Almost as greatly as she silently knew that they wouldn’t.

_“The catacombs and revolving doors inside of my brain, preachers and whores and the neon pulpits burst into flames, I come from both sides of me and either side of their tracks, humbling my ghosts, let the life that floods through my veins bring me back…”_

“I’m glad you kids made it out tonight,” Isabela told her and Carver sincerely. “Have we heard from the nerd brigade?”

Fenris was, surprisingly, the one among them who laughed much too hard at that, and Varric swiftly retold the conversation from moments before.

_“The unshackling of the chains at my wrists, the loyalty to pain that exists and the greatest books are talking ‘bout this, why must everybody die to exist, hello my love, seeking passages and food for your soul on 95, look ahead ‘cause they’re not filling that hole yet, come lay your hands over mine and it will make us both brave, braver to know, let the light, the life force back in our veins…”_

“Oh, Carver,” Hawke looked up towards her brother, and she took a quick drink before she could bring herself to finish her thought. “I was thinking about stopping by to see Bethany tomorrow. You know, do that other thing, too.”

“I’ll be there,” Carver said quickly. “Just text me a time. I can pick you up if you’d like, too.”

“I would, yeah,” she nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just the two of you?” Fenris asked, clearly ready to offer his support. It was a safe assumption everyone else was ready to jump in, as well, save for Anders since he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Hawke answered solemnly. “I think…I feel like this time it needs to be…”

“Of course,” Fenris smiled after Hawke trailed off. “If you need anything after, though, let me know.”

“Of course,” Hawke echoed. “Thank you. All of you, really, I can’t possibly thank—”

“No need,” Isabela interrupted. “That’s what we’re here for.”

That’s what family would be there for.

She almost smiled at that thought.

“Oh, well,” Hawke remembered that she was planning to sing and picked up her slip. “For now, you can do _this.”_

“Anything for you,” Isabela teased, although there was nothing but endearment behind it.

“Oh hey, heard any more news about…news?” Fenris asked after a beat, bringing back a potentially far more hopeful topic.

“It’s been a bit harder to follow the past few days,” Hawke admitted. “What about you, love? Surely you’d have caught anything important I might have missed, yeah?”

_“Are you ready for the power of god, are you waiting for the saints to all nod at the girl who should be raised from the dead, at the demons who’ve been forced from my head…”_

“I’ve been watching where I can,” Anders noted, leaving out the obvious, that he’d certainly had his hands full enough with her that he hadn’t been as attentive to unfolding events as he had been previously, either. “A lot more speculation right now. ‘Insiders,’ as they claim, whatever the fuck that means, are saying the Grand Cleric is finally preparing a statement. I’ll believe it when I see it, but…”

“But it’s something, at least, right?” Carver asked almost rhetorically. He probably needed some hope, too, though. They all did.

“You won’t see this anywhere in the media, but I know for a fact that there’s a lot of extra pressure on the Divine right now,” Anders added.

“If it’s not being reported, how do you know?” Fenris inquired.

“Connections,” Anders chuckled.

“So, who does Elissa know?” Hawke smirked through cigarette smoke, making the easy assumption.

_“Hallelujah, oh hallelujah, oh hallelujah, I’ve come undone…”_

“Elissa knows a lot of people,” Anders confirmed. “I don’t want to say much until I know more for certain, but…”

“But picking up and hauling ass back to Ferelden is sounding better by the day,” Hawke mused.

Isabela only laughed while she walked away, and a moment later it was Anders’s turn.

_“All I have is gone, let me in and I’ll take you away, tonight I’m all alone, I know the chance is gone with the day, I know the chance is gone with the day…”_

“Elissa sends her love to both of us, according to Anders, by the way,” Hawke told Carver, in the exact second she realised she was empty. “And now, consensus, requesting permission to have more whiskey.”

“Permission granted,” Varric said. “Only one more, though, alright.”

“Thanks, Mother.”

She internally cursed herself after saying what she did. It seemed jokes about either Varric or Aveline as the mom friends had become a thing of the past, or were at the very least to be put on indefinite suspension.

No one said anything, but she was sure they all felt it with her.

Varric didn’t waste any time in waving over Norah, anyway.

_“I cry, help me, I’m afraid, help me, I’m afraid, she’s gone, I try to hold the love with me, to hold the love with me, she’s gone, she’s gone, I’m alone with the night…”_

“You got this from Donnic?” Varric spoke up in regards to Anders’s selection, how slow and forlorn and such an absolutely perfect reflection of how she felt, which Hawke could only imagine meant her eyeliner was making it obvious that she was silently crying. “Really?”

He may also have been trying to make light, to ease the heavy mood around them all. She wasn’t sure the reason why mattered much, though.

“Not _this_ specifically,” Hawke explained, trying so hard to smile. “The band, though. They did a track or two for a game he plays and he thought we might like it. Clearly, he was correct.”

“It’s so sad,” Merrill said softly. “How are you holding up?”

_“Stars are out tonight, light the dark in a heart that is cold, heal the love and fate and all the days that I’m alone, and all the days that I’m alone…”_

“As well as I can,” Hawke shrugged, and when she looked to Carver, he simply mimicked the action.

“Your support means a lot,” he said after. “I’m not sure how we’d do this without all of you.”

“Same,” Hawke said. “And I’m glad we are in this together, too, Carver. Honestly, I can’t even…fuck, I…”

“I know,” Carver interjected, and she did not doubt him.

“I hope they at least catch the bastard,” Fenris added firmly. “Sooner rather than later.”

“Thanks,” both Hawkes responded appreciatively, thanks which the elder Hawke immediately repeated when Norah returned in that same breath.

She lit another cigarette with the idea of doing more to pace herself.

She was very thoroughly trying not to need this.

_“I cry, help me, I’m afraid, help me, I’m afraid, she’s gone, I try to hold the love with me, to hold the love with me, she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone, I’m alone…”_

“Bethany would have been all about this, too, you know,” Carver remarked upon the music as he picked up his own cigarettes.

“Maker, yes,” Hawke agreed, passing over her lighter. “Huh, I wonder what she would have thought of…of that other thing we were talking about. I mean, if Mother approved, then…but who knows, really…”

“I honestly have no idea,” Carver shrugged and handed Hawke her lighter back. “I’d love to think she’d have gotten on board eventually, but…”

“But she really _did_ drink the kool-aid,” Hawke sighed, and she hoped that would be enough to explain to Merrill and Fenris why they would even question how Bethany would feel.

She did wish she could ever have known for sure, though. She truly did have to wonder how much was too much.

_“All I have is gone, let me in and take me away, tonight I’m all alone, I know the chance is gone with the day, I know the chance is gone with the day, I know the chance is gone with the day, I know the chance is gone with the day…”_

Sip of her drink, puff of her cigarette, sip, puff, sip, puff, sip…

She recognised this feeling, knew this routine: blank, repetitious, too numb to be anything else.

But she wasn’t going to do this, not this time.

She had Anders, she still had Carver, she had the rest of the incredible family she’d picked up along the way, and they had work to do.

Hard as it remained to disconnect from the memory of the version of her mother whose guilt trips never left her, she wanted to do better to remember the version of her mother who could joke about setting Chantries on fire.

Almost as much as she wanted to set actual Chantries on fire, herself, but it was also nice to imagine her mother looking down on her with pride if she ever were to get the chance.

She decided to drink a little faster, though, albeit mostly because she picked a difficult song and because she still knew she knew damn well it was going to be her only one of the night.

Things would get back to normal soon, she told herself. They had to.

There was so much to do, so many people left to do it all with.

It could be okay.

She’d stopped keeping up with everyone else at the table, had lost the conversations around her. She had fallen out from her surroundings, but she would try to forgive herself that one. She was sure they understood, that they’d all forgive her.

It would be okay.

She put out her cigarette and stood up to the sound of her name, and Anders brushed his hand against hers when they passed one another, and he looked back with a smile.

She had a decent buzz by then, but she was far from out of control. She decided it was a good spot, that this was where she should leave it.

She decided she could handle that.

_“Every single night I endure the flight of little white-flamed butterflies in my brain, these ideas of mine percolate the mind, trickle down the spine, swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze, that’s when the pain comes in like a second skeleton trying to fit in beneath the skin, I can’t fit the feelings in, every single night’s alight with my brain…”_

Her voice was a bit shaky, but that buzz was definitely helping.

Her song was more in Isabela’s wheelhouse, far more in line with her vocal capabilities than with Hawke’s, but it stood that every once in a while she would surprise herself and everyone else by selecting a song that none of her friends would generally associate with her, and this was simply what felt most right this night.

As soon as she’d glanced over the title this evening, it had felt absolutely perfect.

_“What’d I say to her, why did I say it to her, what does she think of me, that I’m not what I ought to be, it’s got be somebody else’s fault, I can’t get caught if what I am is what I am ‘cause I does what I does then brother, get back, ‘cause my breast’s gonna bust open, the rib is a shell and the heart is the yolk and I just made a meal for us both to choke on, every single night’s a fight with my brain…”_

She was proud of herself, too, for branching out, challenging herself, doing something different. It was entirely inconsequential in reality, she knew, but it somehow seemed significant to her in its own way.

_“I just want to feel everything…”_

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was, for the most part, letting herself feel. That she was, for the most part, letting herself live in the aftermath.

Perhaps there simply was no detail too small about how far she’d come.

_“So I’m gonna try to be still now, gonna renounce the mill a little while and if we had a double king size bed we could move in it and I’d soon forget that what I am is what I am and I does what I does and maybe I’d relax, let my breast just bust open, my heart’s made of parts of all that surround me and that’s why the devil just can’t get around me…”_

This was much needed, but this was progress. This was Hawke holding her own, although she knew she could never do it without assistance, without support.

But she knew she didn’t have to, and she’d be damned if she was ever going to let herself forget that.

_“Every single night’s alright, every single night’s a fight, and every single fight’s alright with my brain…”_

It wasn’t going to be easy and they yet had so far to go, but she had to remind herself again and again and again and again that she’d already progressed so much, that she had already made it so much farther than she’d ever previously known possible.

She just had to keep telling herself. She had to.

_“I just want to feel everything, I just want to feel everything, I just want to feel everything, I just want to feel everything…”_

Her mother would have been proud to see it. Her mother had been proud of the person she was growing into, nearly as proud as she had been of who her mother had become.

She would hold onto that. It would be okay.


	82. A Warning Most Unpleasant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Chantry bullshit, ongoing grief
> 
> ["Dirty Magic" by the Offspring](https://youtu.be/pSh7EjppVh4)   
>  ["The Crowing" by Coheed and Cambria](https://youtu.be/kLVNSQL8rAU)

_We found him._

Hawke read Aveline’s text over and over again upon receiving it. She’d thought she might cry whenever the moment came, but she had in reality felt nothing. She forwarded the text to Carver, not even able to compose a new message to say pretty much the same thing anyway.

She felt nothing. There was no closure. It was done, but it didn’t change anything.

_Are you okay?_

Carver’s response indicated that she was as transparent as she feared. Except that fear wasn’t quite the right feeling. She was too numb for fear.

_I’m going to see Bethany. Meet me there in an hour._

He replied only to confirm, and she put away her phone.

She asked Anders for a ride, and of course he did not question or hesitate.

She’d really thought this would feel different. She’d really thought she would feel something at all.

***

“Remember when she was volunteering at the Chantry soup kitchen?” Hawke laughed, sitting on the grass with Carver.

“Yeah, even I always thought that was a bit odd,” Carver said. “Maybe she was just trying to fit in, I don’t know. You always understood her better than I did.”

“To a point,” Hawke sighed. “I never really wanted to blend in the way she did, though. I’ve always preferred the idea of forcing _them_ to face reality and stop treating us like children or fucking criminals. Bethany, though…Bethany really did believe that she was the whole problem, didn’t she?”

“Fucking Chantry,” Carver huffed. “The fact that they even do shit like soup kitchens is wild to me now, you know. How can they even pretend to be charitable?”

“Because people will believe it,” Hawke shrugged. “Makes it easier for the common citizen to look the other way when they do…the things they do. If the Chantry is a force for good, then that means they must have their reasons. It has to be justified somehow. They help the poor from time to time, after all, they’re doing the Maker’s work. That’s how they get you.”

“Fuck,” Carver almost laughed. “Not that you think about this a lot or anything, huh?”

“No, not at all, why would I,” she deadpanned.

They sat in a strangely comfortable silence for several minutes from there, before either of them felt the need to speak again.

“Did Aveline tell you how—”

“No,” Hawke cut her brother off. “No, but I didn’t ask.”

She looked at him expecting judgment, but none came.

“That’s probably a conversation best saved for whenever we see her next, anyway,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s…yeah,” she added with a nod.

“Speaking of Aveline, actually,” he chuckled, and that got her attention well enough.

Which was good. It was time to move on to a lighter subject.

“Oh no, I’m not sure I like this segue,” she teased, officially breaking the mood.

“So, Donnic had said something about having trouble finding someone to officiate the wedding,” he told her. “Apparently the Hanged Man is somehow even less reputable than we’d thought.”

“A hive of scum and villainy if there ever was one, sure,” she laughed.

“Well, you know how you can get ordained on the internet?” Carver looked towards her again, and they both burst into obscene laughter when their eyes met, understanding clear.

“You _didn’t,”_ Hawke kept on laughing, not even entirely sure what was so funny.

“I did,” he said plainly. “You think they’ll go for it?”

“I think it’s _perfect,”_ Hawke answered, and she meant it.

***

Hawke, Carver, and Anders met up with Aveline and Donnic at the Hanged Man later on that night. Aveline had requested it via text while they were still with Bethany, and they did not hesitate to accept, just as Anders did not hesitate to say he’d be there, too.

Norah was working, but she was making a point to hover as close as she could. Carver was still staying with her, and even though he was yet looking for another place, it was apparently going very well.

So everything wasn’t all bad, at least.

“So…there’s a reason I didn’t think this could wait,” Aveline started. Hawke and Carver alike had already begun chain smoking well before arriving at the tavern in nervous anticipation for whatever it was that was so important.

_“But she’s just not that way, her little soul is stolen…”_

Hawke wasn’t paying too much mind to the music playing from the jukebox, but she didn’t appreciate how ominous it sounded.

“I can’t tell you too much about the case on the whole, but I think you deserve…” Aveline cleared her throat, clearly anxious to have this exchange.

_“Pull the shades, razor blades, you’re so tragic…”_

“His name is Quentin,” Aveline continued. “And he, umm…he’s probably not going to prison. It’s most likely that…most likely he’ll be sent to the Gallows instead.”

_“Games you play, dirty magic…”_

“Oh fuck,” Hawke’s voice cracked. She didn’t need to give much thought to how bad this was.

_“I should know better than to think I’d reach inside her, it’s all a cloudy kind of daze…”_

Anders was silent, but she was certain she could hear the wheels turning in his head.

All this progress they’d made was all about to be ruined by the high profile murder case that also happened to take her mother.

She could not picture a greater injustice.

_“It all just seems like such a waste…”_

“I’m sorry,” Aveline said, starting to cry. “I’m so sorry, I know this is the last thing you need, but…”

“Thank you for warning us,” Carver stepped in. “Really, it’s better to find out now. From you.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Hawke forced herself to add. “Shit, this is really going to—it’s all been for nothing, hasn’t it? Everything we’ve done lately? It’s bad enough to just assume we’re all criminals, but to find one who truly is? And just what the fuck is wrong with him, huh?”

_“It’s oversimplified…”_

“He’s paranoid, delusional,” Donnic answered. “They’re pegging him as schizophrenic. Not sure how long before it goes public, but I imagine the Grand Cleric will be all over it as soon as she can in light of…recent events.”

_“Pull the shades, razor blades, you’re so tragic…”_

“It’s almost funny,” Hawke mused between putting out one cigarette and starting another. “Mother would hate this.”

_“Hate you so but love you more, I’m so elastic…”_

It truly was almost funny to think of, after so many years of feeling like her mother loved her less for how she’d turned out, after how far they had come so close to the end.

But Hawke knew she was right, that the person her Mother had become would have absolutely despised her death being used to justify the Chantry’s treatment of the mentally ill.

_“Things you say, games you play, dirty magic…”_

Hawke genuinely could not picture a greater injustice.

“Makes you wonder, too,” Carver sighed. “About this Quentin. If he really is schizophrenic, if this would all have happened if he could’ve gotten help for it without fear of being locked away. Maybe he only became a criminal because he was already seen as one. Does this count as irony? After Alanis Morrisette, I’m never sure.”

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Thanks, Carver. I needed that.”

It wasn’t actually much and it didn’t last, but she meant it all the same.

_“I fed the clues of a lost day killed in motion, but I thought of it so like there’s no other way it could’ve been done, will they size my fit for a puzzle I wish not to play part in it, a heart stained in hate, a feeling I fear will play circles…”_

“I’m so sorry,” Aveline repeated after a silence. “If there’s anything I can do, please…”

“Thank you,” Hawke and Carver said together. Anders remained quiet, but he had started running fingers soothingly along Hawke’s thigh beneath the table.

“But please,” Aveline continued through the ongoing cracks in her voice. “Please, Hawke. And you, too, Anders. Please don’t do anything rash.”

“Rash like what?” Hawke countered, but she knew exactly what Aveline meant.

_“I severed my ties to shroud this body under the streets of this city and wait for the day when I am summoned to walk across this face, well slowly but clearer now in visions that play and plague memory, I love them with all as a son should to mother and father…”_

“Like…oh come on, Hawke, for fuck’s sake,” Aveline searched desperately for the right words. It was strange to see her so flustered. Disconcerting, really. “None of your—no public gatherings or anything for a while, alright? Once this goes public, the risk will be…”

“Your mother would hate that,” Anders finally spoke. “For something to happen to you because of all this. We’ll keep a low profile. Not in the long term, you know I can’t promise you that, but at least for a little while.”

“Until this all blows over, yeah?” Carver added.

_“Would I walk through the door, shedding the light of all life with the rise and reform, would I come as before…”_

“For at least a little while,” Hawke agreed with Anders. “Depends on how long this takes to blow over whether I can consider that. But I won’t sit longer than I have to, alright? If what you’re saying is true, then the Chantry has now effectively taken both my parents and my sister from me.”

_“If given mistakes would I take them back, if erasing them could, if erasing them would…”_

“For the Maker’s sake, Hawke,” Aveline sighed. Hawke recognised the way she looked at her. It was the way she always looked when she was worried and felt she had to don the role of Hawke’s primary maternal figure.

It was difficult for Hawke to reconcile yet, the turbulence she and her mother had shared for most of her life. It still hurt more than ever before to think about it then, to see Aveline’s face and have to think about how many years she spent being properly mothered by a friend roughly her own age, and how much mothering she herself had done for Bethany in turn. She wasn’t sure how she’d ever legitimately come to terms with it all. She wasn’t sure how such a thing could ever be possible.

_“Did you ever really know before, my face shamed to break, did you ever really know before, my mind scared to think, did you ever really know before, my name son to these, did you, did you, did you come clean, in the end from the start…”_

“Sorry, Aveline,” Hawke decided to stand down. She couldn’t argue with her like this, not after everything and all it put everyone through.

Aveline’s thoughts were going straight to Hawke spiralling to her own end, Hawke could see that and she couldn’t blame her. So she didn’t pick this fight. She couldn’t.

“This is just…honestly, just fuck this,” Hawke added. “Fuck all of this. I won’t do anything irrational right now, I promise, but fuck knows my mother may actually have condoned it, and that might somehow be the most fucked up part of the whole thing.”

_“I fought the decisions that called and lost, my mark has a relevant piece in this, I will come reformed, in short for the murders of those I court, I bless the hour that holds your fall, I will kill you all…”_

“That…that really might be,” Aveline replied, shaking her head.

“Maker knows how much she’d grown,” Carver said. “But I still doubt she’ll want to see you anytime soon…you know, if there is a…you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hawke responded. She took a long drag from her cigarette, carefully watching her own hands. “I…thank you for the heads up, really. It’s better than being blindsided once the story breaks, I’m sure. But I think I…I just want to go home. I can’t…I can’t people anymore today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Hawke,” Aveline smiled. “Perfectly understandable.”

Everyone said their goodbyes and passed around hugs. Carver elected to stay a bit longer, while Hawke and Anders followed Aveline and Donnic out.

Hawke wanted to talk about it on the ride home, or once they got into the apartment. But she couldn’t find the words, too numb to so much as try.

Instead they curled up on the couch with Pounce and rewatched Velvet Goldmine, keeping each other close, using physical presence in lieu of words to offer support and comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone has wondered, my irl mother is still here, for as terrified as I was about that. She still can't keep weight on and all at once her mind has started going but…it's still sort of okay for now. So that's something.


	83. Impending Opprobrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mourning and guilt, forced institutionalisation, religious oppression and ableism
> 
> No music this chapter.

Hawke was afraid this would be bad.

But she could not have anticipated how much that was truly going to hurt.

After the full story went public, the Grand Cleric was magically ready and willing to come forward with that statement she previously couldn’t be bothered to make, and it was as full of aggressively dogmatic abuse apologism as they could possibly have feared.

The Chantry was apparently taking this as all the vindication they needed.

Her mother would have hated it.

“Maker, I’m honestly glad Bethany isn’t here to see this mess,” Hawke said into her cigarette, sitting on the fire escape and staring at the alley down below. “That sounds fucking horrible but she really…it really is for the best she missed this.”

Lirene was scared, she’d revealed that at work. She was scared for Anders, scared of his clinic getting him caught, and Hawke found it impossible to disagree. After all, he was a Circle escapee, already somewhere in the system, leaving him at greater risk than most.

“I’m sorry, love,” Anders said softly, obviously at a loss for how else to respond.

“She hated herself so much for being this way,” Hawke continued. “Like it isn’t bad enough to feel the way feeling this way makes you feel. Or something slightly more eloquent. You know. Fuck, you…you know what I mean.”

“I do, love,” Anders offered gently.

“But that made it so much worse, having the burden of society on top of the burden of being mentally ill to start,” Hawke went on. “So if she were here now, I…I miss her every fucking day, don’t get me wrong, and I wish so much that it hadn’t come to that. But if she had to…if she had to do what she did, her timing could certainly have been a lot worse, I guess.”

She despised each word as she spoke, but even she could hardly fault herself for it. Everyone was a wreck, and doing anything short of actively refusing to pay attention to the news was threatening to drive them all over the edge.

For as worried as Lirene was for Anders, Hawke was nearly as worried for herself. She had no idea how easy it might be for anyone in charge to connect her to her father, if that could put her in any danger. Or even if that might hurt Carver, as well, as she imagined his genuine mental health might not be satisfactory if they were to be brought in due to their family name. She assumed neither of them would be believed it were to come down to it. After all, the system had never been fair to start with, but then the aftermath of catching her mother’s killer turned it into a downright witch hunt.

“Fuck, we’re more likely to be victims that villains,” Hawke huffed, finishing her cigarette and instantly lighting another. “We shouldn’t have to worry about being picked up off the fucking street for crying in public or yelling at a broken parking meter or…or whatever.”

“It was a traffic light,” Anders sighed, and Hawke turned to offer him a confused expression. “The arrest this afternoon, Selby told me about it. The poor woman cursed at a traffic light, not a par—oh, you thought you were joking, didn’t you?”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

She tried to sound angry. It would have made sense to her, it seemed appropriate to sound angry.

But she wasn’t surprised enough to be angry, not anymore.

“She explained to the guard that she was running late for work, stressed out from overtime, and that’s why she yelled at the light changing before she could cross,” Anders elaborated. “So simple, so fucking commonplace, and now she’s being evaluated because ‘lashing out’ at an inanimate object is ‘suspicious behaviour.’”

“And what are we going to do about it?” Hawke asked, her heart breaking. She didn’t know how much more her heart could keep breaking over losing her mother and then watching the horrors ever unfolding in the name of “justice” for her.

“Nothing yet, love,” Anders replied. “We have to be more careful than ever, I fear. We have to do _something,_ I know, but this has to be delicate. You saw Elthina’s interview, for fuck’s sake…”

He was right, after all, about the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, about her insistence that her only interest was in keeping the residents of her city safe. She had also, of course, dodged a follow up question about Meredith Stannard’s aggression going viral, as well as being asked to respond to the rumours regarding the extent of the atrocities which went on behind closed doors at the Gallows.

They had been so close. It had felt so close.

And then, in an instant, it was gone.

Her mother would have hated this.

There was a strained, uncomfortable silence between them at that, both of them longing for words to fill it but coming up empty.

“Should we even be staying here?” Hawke spoke up again after a few minutes. “I mean, Kirkwall, this fucking shithole…Anders, I’m serious. I know I’ve joked about leaving before, I know, but…I’m scared, love. I’m fucking scared and I don’t know if we can _be here.”_

It seemed she had not actually realised how fucking scared she truly was until this moment, until she said it out loud and felt her hands begin to shake and her eyes begin to burn.

“I…I don’t know,” Anders admitted. He was always the voice of reason whenever she spoke of fleeing, regardless of how serious she was or wasn’t or how much he wanted to leave sometimes, himself. So for him to be so solemn at her most sincere was certainly rather jarring.

“I don’t, either, love,” she practically whimpered. “But I know I’m scared. And I know I want my mother. And I want my father. And I want my sister. And I want it to be okay. But how the fuck is any of this ever going to be okay?”

She heard him take a breath and she almost anticipated an answer, but of course nothing came. Of course he was just as lost as she.

“But you’re needed here,” she said aloud, entirely to remind herself. “You do so much good, and Darktown would be lost without you.”

“It won’t matter if that good comes back to bite me in the ass, though, will it?”

She wasn’t sure she’d ever before heard him worry about himself when it came to the clinic, even if he was keeping to the context of those his clinic benefitted.

“Love,” she started sympathetically, but she stopped there. She had no idea where she intended to go, what there possibly was to say.

She nearly asked if he’d been talking to Lirene, as well, but she decided against it. She decided that if he hadn’t been, it would not help anyone for him to hear that someone else so thoroughly shared his concerns.

“Alright, love,” Anders said after a moment. His voice was much lighter, despite how obviously he was forcing it to be. “Let’s get dinner. Try to take our minds off things for right now. I’ll check in with Selby more tomorrow. We’ll get through this. Somehow. We have to.”

“We have to,” she repeated. “Fuck, we…we have to. Yeah. We have to.”


	84. In Search of Instauration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of Bethany and Karl and Fuck the Chantry, overall a fairly mild chapter
> 
> ["Karma Police" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/1uYWYWPc9HU)   
>  ["Backdrifts" by Radiohead](https://youtu.be/BTjQsshhPtM)   
>  ["What I'd Love to Hear You Say" by Faunts](https://youtu.be/RFcwDWIGAOM)

Art supplies.

Everything was art supplies, the apartment overflowing with stacks of paper and large containers of glitter and boxes filled with markers. Pounce was not enjoying this. Hawke and Anders, on the other hand, were not creating for themselves but out of sheer obligation.

However, a part of Hawke was loving this, no matter how much she longed for different circumstances.

“The Circle is murder,” one sign read simply enough.

“The Grand Cleric is guilty,” read another.

“Help, not harm.”

“How high is the Chantry’s body count?”

“Illness is not a crime.”

“Elthina has blood on her hands.”

“The Chantry is an abomination.”

“Meredith Stannard is a monster.”

Nothing exactly poetic but blunt, in your face, straight to the point. The message would not be sugarcoated, would not be subtle, would not be hidden in any capacity. The message would not be open to interpretation, but read loud and clear.

Anders’s personal favourites were the stack all to themselves of large sheets in an assortment of colours, each painstakingly printed over in virtually identical penmanship and reading “The Chantry killed my __________,” encouraging anyone with an answer who might see one to fill in the blank for themself.

Of course, they both doubted too many of those signs would actually end up being written on due to the fear of being seen many would be likely to have about doing so in public, but Anders had placed the light blue sign upon which he had filled in “boyfriend” at the very top of the pile.

He told Hawke she should take one for herself, for “sister,” but she wasn’t sure it felt right, comparing Bethany to Karl. Anders wasn’t exactly wrong that the Chantry was responsible for her, too, though, she knew, despite how far less directly.

“Pounce, _no,”_ Anders shouted when the cat came up a little too close to a sign emblazoned with glitter that was still drying, and Hawke could not help but laugh.

It felt good to laugh.

_“Karma police, I’ve given all I can, it’s not enough, I’ve given all I can but we’re still on the payroll…”_

And it did feel poetic in its own right to think of Bethany in this, to blast a playlist she’d have loved while they worked, even if she’d probably never have approved of what they were working on.

_“This is what you’ll get, this is what you’ll get, this is what you’ll get when you mess with us…”_

“How do we feel about ‘Andraste would slap the shit out of you,’ love?” Hawke asked with a smirk. “Too much?”

_“For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself…”_

“I’d say so, love,” Anders replied with a small smile of his own. “I like it, though. Maybe we don’t put that idea away entirely.”

_“For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself…”_

“Got it,” she responded easily. “Pass me a red marker, please.”

“I think we should find a place for all this shit on the second floor once all the glitter’s dried,” he added, tossing the requested marker her way. “Until they’re needed, you know. Just to be on the safe side.”

“When are we putting up the fill-in-the-blanks, though?” She asked him. “I thought those weren’t going to wait for anything in particular.”

“Maybe tonight, a Friday’s probably the best time with our schedules,” he told her. “Because it needs to be late. Very, _very_ late.”

“Should I call Aveline?” Hawke thought aloud. “See if she knows where we shouldn’t go?”

“Good call, love,” Anders nodded. “Guard still prefers to stay out of Darktown, so we should be able to stay local without much problem. But I’d like to get some up in Lowtown, too, if we can. I’m not worrying about Hightown or the Courtyards yet, though. I think it’s best we wait on those for as long as we can.”

“Good call, love,” Hawke echoed.

_“We’re rotten fruit, we’re damaged goods, what the hell, we got nothing more to lose, one gust and we will probably crumble, we’re back drifters…”_

“Might as well ask Aveline for advice on that one, too, but…” Anders trailed off, sprinkling glitter over swirls of glue on the large sheet in front of him.

_“This far but no further, I’m hanging off a branch, I’m teetering on the brink, oh honey sweet, so full of sleep, I’m backsliding…”_

“I will, yeah,” Hawke said. “I’m sure she’ll agree about holding off, but…yeah.”

“Yeah.”

_“You fell into our arms, you fell into our arms, we tried but there was nothing we could do, nothing we could do, all evidence has been buried, all tapes have been erased, but your footsteps gave you away so you’re backtracking…”_

“But, ah, no ideas yet on a when for anything more than hanging select signs on telephone poles, then, huh?” Hawke did not mean to sound so disappointed, although they both knew she was.

“Trista…” Anders stopped what he was doing to look up at her, his eyes tired and longing, much like hers. “I honestly have no fucking idea what we’re doing, love. We’re all trying our damnedest to figure it out, believe me, but this is a more delicate operation than ever, and we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place right now, you know that.”

_“We tried but there was nothing we could do, nothing we could do…”_

“I know, love,” she sighed. “I know, I do. Just…fuck, I thought I was impatient before…”

“Maker, so did I,” he teased, and her response was to get up, walk over to him, dab the tip of her finger into his share of the glitter and then run her finger down the length of his nose.

_“We’re rotten fruit, we’re damaged goods, what the hell, we’ve got nothing more to lose…”_

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mused affectionately as she sat back down.

“Believe me, I’m aware,” she matched his tone perfectly, followed by quickly sticking out her tongue at him.

_“Knowing what I’d love to hear you say, getting what I’d hate to hear this time, everything you feel is all the same, everything caves in on hanging on to what was holding me in place…”_

“We have to take this slow, is all,” he went on. “We’ll do what we can with the signs and the zine and everything, but otherwise we need to allow some time for all of this to blow over.”

_“Mercy me, I’m just a body of disgrace…”_

“Give it time, love,” he continued. “When it comes, we’ll get right back on track, I’m sure. Maker knows it was all too easy to get what we were looking for last time around.”

“Do you really think Stannard would repeat herself like that?” Hawke huffed. “Fuck, we had her, we were so close…”

“I don’t know why that woman does anything she does,” Anders said in a monotone. “She’s too confident, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if her temper got the best of her again.”

_“Knowing what I’d love to hear you say, getting what I’d hate to hear this time…”_

“I’m sure Carver would back you up on that, too, yeah,” Hawke tried her best to sound hopeful, at the same moment her phone began to vibrate by her side on the floor. “Aveline, what—I should probably take this…”

_“Everything you feel is all the same, everything caves in on hanging on to what was holding me in place…”_

“Hey, I was actually just about to call you,” she greeted Aveline. “What’s up?”

“I’ve, umm, I’ve come to a decision, Hawke,” Aveline said nervously. “In light of everything, I think…I think…”

_“Mercy me, I’m just a body of disgrace…”_

“Slow down, it’s alright,” Hawke laughed softly. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Aveline chuckled. “I just…well…”

Aveline spoke for the better part of the next ten minutes straight, and both of them were nearly cackling at each other by the end of it.

“Okay, I do still need to talk to you, about things, but…I’ll let you go for now,” Hawke told her friend after a few more minutes of conversation. “I’ll see you soon.”

“What in the Void was that?” Anders asked once she set down her phone.

“Oh, _well,”_ Hawke smiled. It felt good to smile. They’d needed some good news. “Signs can wait, love, you’re going to want to hear _this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken links in the [full playlist on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLubCaXonOrQW9Uy-rXF7kahOKLLpHysuh) have been fixed. I would like to get around to eventually fixing such links in each relevant chapter, but...the spoons, I just don't know.


	85. A Nice Night for an Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief nod to The Thing™, but there really isn't anything noteworthy as far as warnings are concerned for this chapter
> 
> ["The One I Love" by REM](https://youtu.be/NImocYmzR7Y)   
>  ["I Was Lost Without You" from Mass Effect 3](https://youtu.be/OQeFvUuPNHc)

“We honestly just couldn’t wait anymore,” Aveline laughed nervously. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but…”

“No, it’s not,” Hawke told her with a smile. “It’s not at all, it’s really kind of beautiful.”

“We absolutely _look_ fucking ridiculous, though,” Varric noted.

“Yeah, are you sure you, you know, don’t want to at least wait for Varric to have enough notice to close the damn tavern?” Fenris laughed.

Looking around the tavern, however, crowds were hardly a concern. It was a Wednesday evening, about an hour before Isabela’s set started, but no one would be rushing her. The Hanged Man was fairly empty as it was, only a few stragglers paying far more attention to their drinks than to anything going on around them.

“No, we’re sure,” Donnic replied. “This feels right. Think of it like Leslie and Ben.”

“You fuckers finally watched!” Hawke exclaimed. “Oh, happy day, indeed!”

“Alright, alright, can we get a damn move on?” Varric teased. “We seriously look like assholes standing around like this.”

“Keep that up, Varric, and we will _truly_ make you suffer at our wedding,” Anders retorted.

“Oh, Maker, we’re really doing this,” Aveline laughed again, obviously still oddly nervous. “Hawke, Isabela, Merrill…you all look so beautiful. Anders, Fenris, so dashing, and Varric…Varric, you almost look presentable.”

“I love you, Big Girl,” Isabela said after a burst of loud, booming laughter of her own.

“Are you okay with this, Donnic?” Fenris asked sincerely. “I thought you’d wanted your family to be here.”

“Our family _is_ here,” Donnic told him, and that was enough.

“Alright, we ready?” Carver sounded positively delighted over the scene before them.

“We’re ready, yes,” Aveline said softly.

They really were all quite the sight, the group of them standing by the bar, dressed exactly as they would have been had the wedding gone as initially planned, in hilarious contrast to the nearly empty dive around them. Varric had intended to at least try to make the place look a little nicer when the day came, but no effort whatsoever had been made for this. Aveline’s gorgeous white dress was surely picking up dust as she moved, and the reflection of the neon lights of various beer advertisements on the walls bouncing off of Hawke, Merrill, and Isabela’s dresses was strangely pleasing to the eye. Donnic, Fenris, Varric, and Anders somehow looked most out of place of all in their tuxedos, and Carver’s suit strongly stood out, as well.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Carver said, and Isabela took her cue to run up to the sound equipment she’d already set up for the night.

_“This one goes out to the one I love, this one goes out to the one I’ve left behind…”_

“Oh Maker, what are we even doing?” Aveline laughed upon Isabela’s return. “There’s no aisle, nothing to walk down, just…so are we just standing here, or…”

_“A simple prop to occupy my time, this one goes out to the one I love…”_

“We can just stand here, that’s fine by me,” Donnic assured her. “It wouldn’t be ours if we didn’t find a way to make it awkward as fuck.”

_“Fire…”_

“That’s so sweet,” Merrill smiled at them, entirely genuine.

“Fucking nerds,” Varric added.

_“Fire…”_

“Oh fuck, did you remember to pick up the cake, Kitten?” Isabela asked Merrill, eyes wide. “I was in such a rush to get all my shit ready early that I—”

“It’s in the back, Norah’s going to bring it out when we’re ready,” Merrill explained. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

_“This one goes out to the one I love, this one goes out to the one I’ve left behind, a simple prop to occupy my time, this one goes out to the one I love…”_

“Oi, Corff, I need topped off and I can’t get to the bloody bar with this fucking mess in the way,” a drunk patron shouted, and the whole party laughed despite themselves.

_“Fire…”_

“Andraste’s tits, what does it say about us that this is perfect?” Aveline shook her head, but she was grinning wide.

“Let’s not think about that right now, this is supposed to be a happy occasion,” Hawke answered lightly. “And I still say Anders and I should totally steal this idea…right, love?”

_“Fire…”_

“Later, love,” Anders replied. “But…well…”

“Maker’s balls, this really is _painfully_ awkward,” Fenris added. “It truly is perfect for you two.”

“Can we just cut the damn music, Rivaini?” Varric asked, and it wasn’t clear whether or not he was joking.

_“This one goes out to the one I love…”_

“I have one job, Dwarf,” Isabela snapped playfully. “So stuff it.”

_“This one goes out to the one I’ve left behind, another prop has occupied my time, this one goes out to the one I love…”_

“We’re almost there,” Donnic laughed. “It’ll be alright.”

_“Fire, fire, fire, fire…”_

The song ended, followed by a stark silence, at which Carver approached, appearing pleased as ever.

“You’ve prepared your own vows, yes?” Carver asked, and they both nodded.

“Donnic,” Aveline started. She quietly cleared her throat, and Hawke could swear she’d never seen her oldest friend so content in all the years she’d known her. “When I first met you, I had no idea what in the Void to do with myself. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to love again after losing Wesley, and we were co-workers and everything about that dynamic made it feel so wrong, but somehow…somehow I knew it was right. And Maker knows how _awful_ I was at trying to tell you—to this day I will _never_ be able to explain why I saw those damn copper marigolds at Enchantments and thought to myself, ‘Donnic will appreciate this, this is how I tell Donnic that I like him.’ But eventually we figured it all out, we figured _each other_ out, and now here we are. I love you, and I’m so thrilled to be here with you, how far we’ve made it. I’m excited to get to spend the rest of my life with you, whatever…whatever happens, however fucked up our lives can be. We’ll make it, I know we will. Together.”

“Oh fuck, Aveline, that was _lovely,”_ Hawke said aloud, and everyone laughed once more.

“Yeah, wow, now I have to follow that?” Donnic laughed further, but he was able to be serious again quickly enough. “Aveline, you have never made sense to me. From those copper marigolds to the fact that you even liked me to begin with. I’ve never really known where I fit in. Growing up, no one ever particularly liked the quiet nerd. So I kept to myself, played video games instead of going out. And somehow you saw past that, you actually wanted to get to know me like no one ever had before. You made me feel special. And then you brought me into your group of friends, gave me somewhere I truly belonged. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and for as much as I love the family you’ve made me a part of, the most important element is first and foremost that I’m here because of _you._ You’ve lost so much, and I’m so grateful you’ve let me in, that you’ve given me a place in your life. I admire your strength, your will, your perseverance. And I will stand with you, by your side, for the rest of our lives. Like you said, together. Together, we can get through anything. I rolled a natural 20 with you, Aveline. I love you.”

“I think you nailed it,” Varric whispered, and Fenris promptly elbowed him in the side.

“I love you and I like you,” Aveline said, which caused even more laughter and joking applause from the party.

“I love you and I like you,” Donnic repeated.

“Alright, then,” Carver’s voice cracked and he didn’t even seem to care. “Aveline, do you take Donnic—”

“Yes.”

“And Donnic, do you—”

“Yes.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the city state of Kirkwall via the wonders of the internet granting me responsibilities I should never be allowed,” Carver announced with a chuckle, “I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

Isabela ran back over to her stand, starting up an instrumental track Hawke did not recognise, an interesting symphonic tune that was vaguely orchestral but also markedly electronic, and there was wild applause as the song began and welcomed the end of the ceremony.

“It’s the romance theme from Mass Effect 3,” Aveline explained. “He _really_ loves those games.”

“That’s legit fucking adorable, though, not gonna lie,” Carver said.

“It really is,” Merrill agreed.

“A round of drinks?” Varric was not so much offering as making a statement, and he broke off to see to it that those drinks would be delivered swiftly.

“Don’t think for a fucking second that you’re done with us,” Aveline called after him. “No changing clothes, now it’s reception time!”

“Oh fuck off,” Varric shouted back, but they all knew he would acquiesce for Aveline under the circumstances.

“Holy shit, that just happened,” Aveline sighed to Hawke. “You, get over here…”

“Congratulations, Aveline,” Hawke said with tears in her eyes as she gave her friend a tight hug. “This has been such a wonderful, beautiful trainwreck.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, though, not really,” Aveline told her. “And I seriously…I don’t know, Hawke, everything in our lives feels so up in the air right now. With how fucked up it’s all been at work with _the thing_ and having the guard dealing directly with Stannard over it, and knowing something big _has to_ be brewing on your end, not even to mention how fucking _terrified_ I am for you and Anders simply for existing right now…and the rest of us, too, actually, but you two especially since…you know…”

“You’ve had that thought, too, huh?” Hawke tried to snicker.

“I don’t know if we were ever really going to stay in this shit town forever, but now…” Aveline had to clear her throat again, rapidly succumbing to one emotion after another. “But now I suppose we have to be prepared for anything. And this was important, so it had to be done. And now it is, so whatever happens, however we can manage it…my place is with you, Hawke. We’re family, and I will always be there for you.”

“I love you so fucking much,” Hawke said, her voice breaking completely.

“I love you so fucking much, too,” Aveline laughed. “Now, I should probably spend some time with my husband…because this is a wedding, and that’s a real thing now.”

“Go on, Mrs. Hendyr,” Hawke smirked. “And I believe there was some mention of cake…”

This truly was perfect in its own weird way, that was for sure. This was a good day, and it been greatly needed, for everyone.

It was nice to see that it could still be okay. It was nice to learn that there were apparently more great moments ahead of then yet.

They still had lives to live, and Hawke had not realised how desperately she had needed that reminder.

But this was good. This was everything it should have been, everything it was meant to be.

This was hope.


End file.
